Halfway Human
by truetest
Summary: Loneliness overwhelms Kurt, and one drunken night he places an order - for a companion Orgobot. WIP
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee and am in no way affiliated with the show or its creators.  
><strong>AN:** Fill for a prompt at the fic meme: _Takes place in a world where highly developed, almost human-like robots have been created, including ones that are basically sex dolls that can talk and response. Kurt gets tired of being alone all the time and buys one of these robots, Sam. The arrangement becomes more complex when Sam starts to want to become human (typical angsty robot story there). Also, Kurt starts to actually fall in love with the robot, but is worried that the affection the robot seems to have for the person is something they're programed to do, and thus tries to develop a relationship with another human (Blaine or one of the other boys). End can either be angsty or fluffy._

...I am really freaking nervous about posting this. It's way out of my comfort zone. *ahem*

That aside, I'm hoping I can push myself to actually finish this (ridiculously long) story, but I hope that this prologue is at least somewhat satisfactory (I actually don't particularly like it). I warn you that updates will be sporadic since I start summer classes (intense coursework - a semester crammed into a month) in two days ;_;

If I can to take it where I want to (without digging myself into plot holes) and manage to finish it, it might end up being a _monster_of a story. Here's to hoping I keep up the motivation, yes?

This is also heavily AU and set into the future by about one hundred years - I picture technology continuing to advance exponentially as time passes, so a lot of these things are, to me, able to be common place a century from now. If you have any questions about the technology, ask me, and I'll do my best to answer you. I have my notes fairly organized when it comes to how things work in this world.

Long author's note is long. I hope you enjoy!

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><p>Kurt sighed heavily at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he washed his hands. Their little (twelve person) gathering at <em>The Times<em>restaurant was in full swing twenty steps from the bathroom door, but for once Kurt was not feeling up to being the bright social butterfly that he was known to be.

It was frustrating how their meet ups were becoming anything but what they were meant to be for Kurt. He was _supposed_to remember that, no matter what, he would have this group of friends by his side forever, despite the cat fights and small dramas happening almost constantly within their ranks. But what these gatherings were doing as the years passed - and no one had any way of knowing that Kurt was feeling this, good as he was at hiding things sometimes - were reminding him of how lonely he was in his day-to-day life.

He had no one to come home to. Every day he got home from work, and would think "I'm home," but didn't dare to say it out loud as he knew there wasn't anyone there to reply. It would be all the more depressing to have his voice echo down the entrance hall of his too-big apartment; his call would fade away into nothing, never to be answered.

He knew it was ridiculous for him not to have at least a boyfriend, if not a serious partner, being who he was and all. Kurt Hummel was a brilliant designer who participated in musicals in his down time; he was still boyishly cute at 29 and maintained a physique that was certainly easy on the eyes; he had a vibrant, if sometimes overwhelming, personality… He was interesting and attractive and had dated every vile man in a fifty mile radius.

He had zero luck with men. All his relationships were like something out of a tragedy. On his list of failed boyfriends were liars, drug addicts, married men, cheaters, men who were only "experimenting" and not looking for something serious…

And the list went on.

It wasn't that Kurt actively sought out these people, but more that these things were revealed about the person after several months of dating - about the time when things would have started to get serious. Kurt had stopped crying after the second married man so that when the third came around, all he'd had to do was slap him and move on.

Kurt was getting too jaded. As he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, he thought maybe he just looked tired. Then again, that was probably more to do with his buzzed state of mind. After all, once conversation had gotten rolling among their group and he came to the realization that he was the only one present with no significant other, he'd started gulping wine instead of sipping it. Four glasses of merlot down in an hour, and here he stood, wallowing in misery as his friends chattered and laughed loudly not twenty feet away.

But he'd put on a smile, even if it was going to be noticeably strained (Mercedes was bound to pick up on his more than slightly dampered mood), and walk out the door to rejoin his people and try to have a good time.

He'd go in just a minute.

He glanced up at himself again.

Ugh, he'd go _now_. He couldn't stand to look at his own face anymore.

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><p>Wearing a mask was absolutely <em>exhausting<em>. There were cracks in it, of course, a whispered, _"Are you feeling okay? You look tired, and you just spilled red wine on the cuff of your bright-ass-white jacket,"_ coming to mind. He'd laughed it off with a drunken giggle that wasn't _entirely_forced, even if it was a bit too close to being hysterical, and told Mercedes that he had his own secret brand of stain-be-gone or something of the like, and not to worry about it.

She'd looked skeptical, but nodded and turned back to the conversation.

Kurt didn't miss the glances she threw at him throughout the rest of the night.

He'd excused himself a little early, begging off that he had a show to plan for and needed sleep to brainstorm properly in order to come up with the latest in all that was fabulous.

So here he found himself, post cab-ride, still a bit drunk as he pressed his palm onto the lock pad outside his apartment door. The door shifted open, squeaking on its track as it receded into the wall. Kurt made a note to call the landlord and have that checked.

He toed his shoes off and hung his stained jacket, and thought briefly about breathing out the pathetic _"I'm home,"_- and with that thought he went straight to the liquor cabinet.

The wine had been good, and certainly gotten him to a pleasant buzz, but the with the wave of misery that had washed over Kurt as soon as he'd crossed the threshold to his empty apartment came the need for something a little stronger.

He walked to the far wall and tapped the touchpad there, fingers gliding across the surface and instructing the computer within what to do.

He waited a moment as the compartment cover raised itself up, revealing a well-stocked cabinet of high end alcohol.

Kurt bypassed the vodka and the light rum, pausing momentarily on the spiced dark rum before moving on to the various liqueurs held within. His hand hovered over the orange flavor before his mind shifted, and suddenly he knew exactly what the occasion called for.

Whiskey. Smooth, burning whiskey.

And so it was that he quickly snatched the whiskey from it's place and headed to his kitchen, retrieving a shot glass as well as another glass cup filled with ice.

He took two shots back-to-back before pouring the liquor over the ice until the cup was full to the brim. He sipped at the top to make sure it wouldn't spill, capped the bottle, and walked back into his living room, where he sat down on his couch and picked up another touch pad, activating his hoverscreen. A projection flared to life just behind his coffee table, and he drew his fingers across the device until the hoverscreen settled on Kurt's guilty pleasure - "what not to wear" shows. He planned to drown his sorrows in alcohol and ridiculing bad fashion until he passed out where he sat.

A few minutes after sitting down, the shots from a few minutes ago washed over him in a sudden, blissful wave of haziness. He took another sip of his whiskey-on-the-rocks, smiling a bit as he pushed his loneliness out of his mind and let the drink take effect.

A half hour later he'd finished the glass off and was thoroughly drunk. Smashed, even. His eyes were a bit droopy as he distantly processed whatever he was watching on the hoverscreen.

The screen swirled as a commercial started, a woman in white standing next to a man in blue scrubs.

_'No, not a man,'_ Kurt thought, absently. _'A robot.'_

_"Whether you need help around the house, a companion for your children, or an efficient personal assistant, Orgobotics can guide you toward selecting the right Orgobot to suit you needs!"_

Different models flashed across the screen, male and female models of all "ages," colors, and shapes.

_"Our newest models are programmed with the latest in artificial intelligence and lightening fast reaction systems by using new, field-tested software, allowing you to personalize your unique Orgobot._

"You can visit our digispace location to design one on your own, or you can cast a live screening with one of our trained Orgobotic Specialists to help you through the process.

"Orgobotics: Robotics with a Human Touch!"

Kurt blinked as the commercial ended and another began.

He sat up, hand clumsy as it moved over the touchpad next to him, the screen changing from the broadcast to pull up his digispace program. His vision was somewhat blurry as he read the information on the screen.

Orgobots - robots fused with organic material in order to look and _feel_human - had come on the market about twenty years ago. Before their creation, people were using metal, inorganic robots that poorly mimicked human qualities and had been in production for a century. The science behind Orgobots was sketchy, as Orgobotics kept their information strictly confidential, but what was common knowledge was that while they weren't human, they weren't entirely machine either. It had been the cause of a huge political debate in robotic rights, and it was all very messy and nothing that Kurt really cared to know the details of.

And Orgobots weren't all entirely made for just chores around the house or a living laptop. There were certain models - companion models - that people bought solely for the purpose of sexual release. These models still came programmed with everything else you might need, activated only if the owner wanted to use them, but they were essentially sex dolls.

Kurt, through the haze of alcohol, couldn't help but ask himself:

_'Am I really that lonely?'_

He shook his head and told himself that he was only looking, even as his mind was beginning to fail him due to the liquor coursing through his veins.

How would he design his?

Male, certainly. His model would have to be male. And… he'd always liked blond. And tan. Green eyes… Muscular, but not too bulky. Full, pouty lips. A nice smile. Slightly taller than him.

His right hand flew over the touchpad, not nearly as clumsy as it should be considering just how drunk he was, and he built his design into perfection. Before he knew it a complete picture with a disclaimer (_Orgobot not guaranteed to be the exact match of the picture presented here. Orgobotics will do their best to be as accurate with your order as possible while taking some liberties with the details_) had popped up on his screen, and he found himself fascinated.

He looked at the screen intently for a moment, and burst of _longing_struck him. He felt tears gather in his eyes, the intensity of the emotion amplified by the large amount of alcohol fogging his mind.

There, before his eyes, was the perfect man. Gorgeous, and made to be just what Kurt needed in his life; this could be something he could come home to. He... he could at least pretend this way.

He sighed as he brought up his quickpay account, completing the transaction (_Your Orgobot will be delivered within two weeks of payment_). He leaned back on the couch and threw an arm over his eyes, exhaustion crippling him suddenly. His arm dropped down, and as he closed his eyes and his head lulled to the side, the Orgobotics digispace location's main page glowed from his hoverscreen.

The next morning he woke up with the the hangover from hell that only the twisted combination of red wine and whiskey could give.

He wondered vaguely why the Orgobotics digispace location was pulled up, before closing it out and heading to take some medicine for his throbbing head and a hot shower to soothe the aching body that was angry at him for sleeping sitting up on the couch.

His day started normally, and went about normally, as did the next seven days.

It was the eighth day that sent him into a whole other level of ungodly _Why me?_


	2. Chapter One

**A/N:**Fill for a fic meme prompt at the SamKurt community on LiveJournal.

I feel a lot better about this chapter than I did about the prologue. And we get to meet Sam! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this... I'm really getting into this fic. I'm hoping I'll be able to update regularly, but I don't quite know yet what my summer semester looks like, so we'll see. I'll do my best! orz

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><p>Kurt's socked feet made little noise on the tiled floor of his kitchen as he went about preparing lunch for one, drowning out the emptiness by blaring his own personal mix of broadway's best and singing along loudly. But even with the distraction of music, his mind managed to stray back to the fact that he was feeling totally isolated.<p>

It wasn't like he didn't have friends; that absolutely wasn't it. He had twelve beautiful (if somewhat dramatic and occasionally clashing) friends, all of whom he knew would come to be by his side in an instant if he needed them. He adored his mismatched group, and loved spending time with them, but that was just it - spending time together was not as easy as it used to be. Sure he could call up Mercedes or Rachel and arrange a play date, but Mercedes had a four year old and a high stress job as an editor for _Couture_, and Rachel was pregnant with her first, yet still working tirelessly to perform and train her understudy. Quinn had three children and an idiot (Puck) to take care of, so her hands were constantly full, and Brittany and Santana were often traveling due to Santana's status as a Senator. Things with Tina were still a bit awkward since Mike's whole bi-curious stage wherein he apparently had a thing for Kurt and, being one to always want to "work towards a healthy relationship," had told Tina all about it. Though she understood that Kurt himself had done nothing to entice her long-term boyfriend, he had a hunch that she was holding a bit of a grudge for the incident.

He got along well with the guys in their group, but when it came down to it, his position as an honorary girl kept them from relating all that well to each other. That's not to say that he made no effort to keep in touch with them, because they tried for each other - the boys came to his fashion shows and he went to football and hockey games - but when they hung out, there was always someone who just wasn't fully content with the setting.

Families, jobs, grudges, and awkwardness all spelled out one thing for Kurt: he was alone.

He'd spent all his life craving romance, waiting for the partner that he could give everything to and who would give everything to him in return. He'd kept himself open to opportunities, and maybe that's why his track record was so grim, but he'd been honest and he'd _tried_for all these men, only to have his effort thrown back in his face when the time came for them to break apart. And it seemed every break up was more tragic than the last.

As he cut up vegetables for his pasta salad, an unwelcome dark mood settled over him.

…There were times when he loathed cooking, if only for the memories of meals shared with a significant other in the past. Pasta in all its many forms was Stephen's (two boyfriends back) favorite food, and here Kurt was, standing in front of a medium size bowl of spiral noodles.

He remembered the last time he'd cooked for Stephen. He'd been putting together a salad while waiting for the lasagna to finish cooking in the oven, when he'd said that his father had mentioned wanting to meet Stephen, since they'd been together for six months and things seemed to be getting serious.

When Stephen had gone quiet, Kurt's heart had clenched with an all too familiar anxiety. He'd turned to face the man he'd been calling boyfriend for the last six months, and Stephen wouldn't meet his eyes. He'd run a hand through his curly brown hair and told Kurt that he didn't realize they were that serious.

He'd thought, all that time, that they'd just been _fuck buddies_.

_"You honestly thought we were together? C'mon, Kurt, you know I've been sleeping with other people. We're just friends."_

No, Kurt did _not_know his "boyfriend" had been sleeping around, and if Stephen would kindly remove himself from Kurt's sight that would be lovely. Oh yes, and fuck you.

Stephen had then disappeared from his life.

So much for being _friends_.

Kurt was viscously cutting up cherry tomatoes when he missed just the slightest bit and the knife nicked the tip of his index finger.

Well wasn't that just _perfect_.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to keep his irritation in check, before he made his way to the bathroom for his skinpen.

He was still cursing in his head even as he slid his left index finger up the wall, watching as the mirror slid all the way up, and snatched his skinpen from it's place on the second shelf. He turned it on and ran the blue end over the cut, and having sealed the small wound, replaced it and went back to his kitchen, mood more sour than ever.

He checked the time - one o'clock - and went through the motions of mixing the pasta salad and setting it in the refrigeration compartment to chill for dinner that night. He was midway through reaching for his leftover garden burger to eat for lunch when his hoverscreen suddenly flared to life, alerting him to a delivery man with a rather large parcel standing outside his door.

The corners of his mouth turned downward in a frown as he tried to remember whether or not he'd ordered something, but he had no recollection of doing any such thing. Especially for something that _big_.

His brow furrowed in confusion, and turned off the projected image before walking quickly to the door. He hesitated for a moment when he got there, his hand hovering over the door's touchpad; a strange feeling of foreboding was seeping into his mind just behind his unpleasant mood. He shook his head gently before opening the door, berating himself for needless paranoia.

_'I've got to stop torturing myself with all those damnable whodunit trash novels I read.'_

The delivery man was an exhausted looking forty-something with a plastic smile that spoke of one too many years at his stagnant job. Kurt's imagination immediately placed this man in the same lonely boat as Kurt himself, as the look in his eyes was disturbingly similar to the one that he'd seen in the mirror at _The Times_a week ago.

Kurt's mood lightened at the possibility of commiseration, and he offered a small smile, sure that this man with the tired eyes had made a simple mistake, and watched as he straightened, holding out a small touchpad.

A miniature hoverscreen flared to life.

"This is a delivery for an order placed by Mr. Kurt Hummel. Please authenticate your identity using the pollex scanner."

Kurt was even more confused now that the name matched, but decided to calmly point out that an error had been made.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, smiling pleasantly, "But I think you've made a mistake. I don't recall buying anything recently. Perhaps something was mixed up in your system?"

Kurt stiffened as the delivery man rolled his eyes and pointed to the message on the hoverscreen. All amiable thoughts Kurt had toward the man - Jason, the name tag read - vanished instantly, and his black mood from before reared it's ugly head.

The man hadn't even deigned Kurt worthy of a few spoken words. Since that was the case, Kurt had plenty to say for the _both_of them.

"There's no need to be rude to me simply because you've been barely existing these last few years, wasting away in a fruitless job and wondering idly where your life went," Kurt said venomously. "I was only alerting you to the possibility that your company might have made a mistake, but I see now that you simply want me to take this so you can go back to a routine wherein you live a life like something out of a horror story told to teenagers to make them stay in school." He finished, eyes flashing dangerously.

He gave himself a mental pat on the back at the stunned look on the other man's face, though somewhere, hidden away by the vicious feelings he held for this stranger, was the thought that maybe he'd gone a bit too far, especially since he didn't even _know_this person. However, that thought was far out of reach at that point in time, and so Kurt simply held out his thumb.

"Heaven knows I live to make _your_life more convenient, so please, by all means, scan me."

The man swallowed and held up the scanner from where his hand had dropped to his side, and Kurt held his thumb over it. The device glowed green, and the hoverscreen thanked Kurt and wished him a wonderful day.

As soon as the hoverscreen died, the delivery man unloaded the box from its dolly and made a beeline for the elevator. Kurt huffed at his retreating figure before turning to examine his package.

It was a little taller than Kurt himself, and almost as wide as the door frame. It looked to be just as thick, too. Kurt sighed heavily, wondering just what on earth it could _be_.

Also, how in the world was he supposed to get this thing into his apartment?

He tried to pull the box inside, but it was _ungodly_heavy. But it was so tall that if he tried to push it in it might fall over and potentially damage whatever was held inside. He glared at it, frustrated with the whole ordeal, and then reached up, carefully tipping the box back toward himself, struggling with the weight of it as he tried to drag it inside. He managed to haul it all the way to his couch, and let it crash down to the floor once he'd gotten it level to his hips.

(He was _not_ out of shape, thankyouverymuch, but the thing was heavy and awkward and okay, so maybe he _had_been a bit lax about his gym schedule lately. Whatever.)

He stood from his crouch and brushed his hands off on his pants, smiling a bit at the job well done. He eyed the package for a moment longer before retrieving the main control touchpad from his coffee table, bringing up the endo-imagery program he'd purchased (thanks to a rather embarrassing incident where Puck had a stripper-in-a-cake delivered to Kurt's front door on his birthday) on his hoverscreen to see exactly what was inside of this mystery box.

His eyes widened at the outline of a human body inside.

His mind went into panic mode.

_'Ohmygod, ohmygod, someone has been murdered and the murderer sent me the body, ohmygod ohmygod what do I do, should I call the police, ohgod why me-!'_

Kurt's breathing had picked up, and he forced it to slow down to try and calm himself from his mini freak-out so that he wouldn't have a panic attack. He needed to think rationally, because there was no way that a dead body was inside the box - that was absurd - and he simply had to open it to find out what it really was.

He swallowed hard and took a shaky breath before moving a step closer. He paused, and then managed another step, hypersensitive to noise and sudden movement, still a bit wired and scared that maybe it really _was_a dead body.

Maybe Jason the delivery man was actually a serial killer who just _posed_as a delivery man in order to deliver his victims to unsuspecting fabulous revolutionaries in men's fashion...

After all, one couldn't be too careful.

He shook his head and closed his eyes, exhaling forcefully before running two fingers along the length of the box, triggering the "open" mechanism. The container folded in on itself until it was a dense slab of plasticoat to be disposed of later, and Kurt went very, very still when he registered exactly what he was looking at.

A stunning man - blond, tan, muscular, with full lips and a beautiful face - lay unconscious on his living room floor, a packet of blue fabric and a small bag labelled _Orgo Plus - Maintenance and Fuel Substance_next to him.

No. Oh no.

Suddenly his mind was flashing back to the week before, sifting through the hazy memories of his night of wine and whiskey, and then it clicked in his mind: the digispace location.

The Orgobotics home DSL had been pulled up on his hoverscreen when he woke up the next morning. And he, in all his drunken stupor, must have-

No.

He fell to his knees and just _stared_, mind threatening to overload and simply shut down on him.

_'I didn't. I didn't. There's not enough liquor in the world to get me drunk enough to order a… a… Oh my god.'_

He ran a hand through his hair, for once not caring about ruining any sort of carefully crafted styling, and tried to organize his thoughts.

He'd return it. He'd leave it lying on his living room floor until he could run to the post and exchange the old plasticoat for a new one, come back, package the damn thing and ship it right back to Orgobotics. No harm done, a clean break, he'd get his money back and forget all about his mistake.

The worst part about all this was the shame. He'd reached new low point in his life… He thought that perhaps there was a new circle of hell that he was living in, where all of his moves served to solidify his position as the most pathetic person in the world.

He took a deep breath.

"Right," he told himself aloud, forcing some confidence in his voice. "This is an easy fix. A quick return. Nothing to worry about, and no one will ever find out."

Kurt stood quickly, walking around the "sleeping" Orgobot, making his way to the foyer, his pace so rapid it was nearly frantic. He pulled on his coat, checked for his multicard, and moved his hand to open the door.

He found himself grinding to a halt, dangerous thoughts coming to the fore.

…What was the harm in turning it on? They were fairly common, but he'd never really gotten to interact with an Orgobot before. None of his friends owned one, and it was a sort of unspoken rule that you didn't interfere with another person's Orgobot without permission. They were property, after all, and to try to initiate an interface with someone else's Orgobot was like a violation of their privacy.

He was honestly curious to see what they were like. He'd seen the commercials - everyone had - but right before him was the real thing. He could activate it and see how it talked, what it's voice sounded like, whether it was as realistic and human-like as they were advertised to be.

He turned and looked over his shoulder at the humanoid robot on his floor. He frowned heavily, turning the idea over in his head.

Curiosity won.

He walked back over it, crouching down and looking it over. He couldn't see any obvious activation areas - there were no touchpads, buttons, or switches - and found himself wondering just how one went about turning an Orgobot on.

He glanced around for something that might activate a hoverscreen, or even a primitive manual, anything to tell him how he was supposed to wake it up. He was annoyed to find that there was nothing there to tell him about his purchase; Orgobotics was obviously not the user-friendly company they claimed to be.

Kurt sighed, and turned to get up in order to follow through with his return-it-and-foget-this-ever-happened-for-the-sake-of-my-pride plan, when he noticed something odd.

The Orgobot's chest was gently rising and falling.

He didn't quite know for sure, since no one really knew just how human these organic machines were, but surely Orgobots weren't supposed to be able to _breathe_, right?

Kurt swallowed, suddenly afraid. Was it possible that this thing was really _alive_…?

He reached a hesitant hand out, and gently pressed it to the left side of the thing's chest.

Its eyes sprang open and it stood up quickly, turning to face Kurt with a blank face.

A hoverscreen popped up.

"Companion Model Number: SAM8-9941-2924-M56 has been activated! Your new Orgobot will prompt you for a few final preferences to be stored in its User Profile Data. Once these prompts end, your Orgobot will be ready to serve you. Welcome to a new level of comfort!"

The screen closed and Kurt held his breath as he waited for it to start speaking, but it didn't do anything. He exhaled after a long moment, starting to feel uncomfortable standing in front of his (very much naked) blank-faced purchase, and wondered if maybe he should say something or touch it again.

That turned out not to be necessary.

The blank faced morphed into an easy smile and lively eyes that took Kurt's breath away.

"Hi Mr. Kurt Hummel! What d'you want me to call you?"

Kurt's eyes were dinner plates. The voice was smooth and the inflections and tones were so human-like that they turned him speechless for a moment.

The thing continued to smile at him, and after Kurt got his bearings, he was finally able to reply. "Kurt. Kurt is fine."

"Alright then Kurt! My current name is SAM8-9941-2924-M56, would you like to change it?"

Kurt thought for a moment. Shouldn't he really be turning this thing off already? He'd gotten to see it, speak to it, and yes, it was an incredible piece of technology, but now he needed to _shut if off_ before it got any deeper, even if the Orgobot _was_ mesmerizing, with it's sweet smile and lovely eyes, because, after all, it was just that: an _Orgobot_. It wasn't human.

"I think that's enough, um…" Kurt stopped, wondering just what the etiquette for human-robot interactions was. Or whether there even was any. He went for polite. "What did you say your name was?"

"My name is SAM8-9941-2924-M56! Would you like to change it?" It prompted again, looking as if it were hanging on Kurt's every word, eagerly awaiting a name.

"Right. I'll just call you Sam. Now, Sam, if you could please deactivate-"

"Sam is an awesome name!" It - Sam - interrupted. "Okay, here's the next thing: you didn't specify in your order what position you prefer, so I need you to let me know so I know exactly what you want," it said, and ohgod, it _winked_.

Wait. Position? What position he preferred so it would know what he-

Kurt's face flushed crimson from his neck to the tips of his ears.

"I am _not _telling you that! Now just tell me how to switch you-"

"Position preference registered: switch!" It said, smiling widely. Its smile then morphed into a small, saucy smirk. "It'll definitely keep things interesting."

Kurt's face was on fire and he was close to hyperventilating from embarrassment and the insanity of the whole situation. He needed… he needed to shut the damn thing off, to get it shipped out and away from him, never to be seen again. Kurt was sure it could find a lovely home with some other lonely man or woman, but it would not find it in Kurt's apartment. The too-big space suddenly seemed cramped with the gorgeous blond man - _robot_- standing in the room with him. He needed some space away from it!

He took a few steps back, and Sam's features fell back into the soft smile from before.

"You specified everything else when you ordered me, so we're done with that now. If at any point you don't wanna be around me anymore," Sam seemed to deflate a bit at that, and glanced away before looking back up at Kurt with pleading eyes, "Then you can have my AI reprogrammed. You can also have some physical parts changed if you want. However," the Orgobot paused, its eyes went blank, and a voice that didn't quite belong to it said, "Your registered Orgobot comes with a two year warranty covering software and hardware malfunctions. Since your Orgobot has been activated, you will not be refunded for a return, nor can you exchange your model for another. You are bound by law to dispose of your Orgobot only by returning it to Orgobotics, and you will be prosecuted should you fail to do so. Your Orgobot is registered as your property - do not attempt to give away your Orgobot." Sam's eyes cleared, and his easy smile returned. "So that's all! If you get confused or something, just ask me!"

It took a long moment for Kurt to process everything that had just been said, but several words stood out clearly from all the rest.

_"Since your Orgobot has been activated, you will not be refunded for a return, nor can you exchange your model for another."_

Kurt wasn't one to swear for petty reasons, but seriously.

What. The. _Fuck._

All he'd done was turn it on, and even _that_ had been inadvertant! There was no warning about not being able to be refunded once it was activated! That was such a load of crap. Orgobotics must have cheated thousands of people out of returns this way... Who knew how many people were out there who, like Kurt, had gotten drunk and lonely one night and ordered themselves up a robot boyfriend?

…Oh god, he was going to cry.

It wasn't like he didn't have money, but he _knew_ how expensive this drunken purchase was - Orgobots were common, but they were truly only common among people who were, at the very least, upper-middle class. Buying an Orgobot was like buying a _personal transporter_, for god's sake. He couldn't just toss thousands and thousands of dollars out the window by returning it!

Kurt had looked down and then squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to try and control his emotions before they overwhelmed him, and so didn't even noticed that Sam had moved until he felt a hand tilt his chin up. He opened his eyes in surprise, and was met with an expression that looked like concern.

Damn, those engineers were _good_.

"C'mon Kurt, don't cry. What's wrong? Let's do something. I can get you in the mood, and then you just tell me whose turn it is and you'll feel all be-"

Kurt slapped the hand away, finally coming back to his senses. His whole body tensed as he snapped, "I will _not_ let you get me in any sort of _mood_! This whole thing is a huge mistake and you shouldn't even be here at all!" He looked away from the Orgobot - its expression had changed to "surprise" - and started pacing from his kitchen to his living room. "But what am I supposed to do with you? You cost me an ungodly amount of money - oh god, I am _never_ drinking again - and I can't get a refund if I return you, so what good is there in sending you back? I can't even _give _you away! I feel like I'm a victim of some horrible scam!"

Kurt went silent for a moment, stopping in his pacing to pinch the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh.

"You…" Sam started, but then seemed to pause, "You already don't want me?" It asked, voice quiet. Kurt turned around, feeling uneasy.

"I made a mistake when I ordered you," he said gently, not quite knowing how to handle the feelings caused by AI. What all were these things programmed to do, anyway?

Sam looked away from Kurt, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right. "So you're gonna get my AI replaced, huh?" it asked, its voice still quiet, but somehow sounding… Dejected?

Kurt blinked, confused beyond belief. For having been so curious about interacting with an Orgobot, he suddenly found himself at a loss of what to feel concerning the thing. Should he feel guilty for having upset it somehow? Ugh, this was all messed up.

Kurt made a split-second decision. He would keep it. He would keep it and treat it like a free-loading roommate - treat it like a human. All of this nonsense concerning how to respond to a robot's AI and the emotions powered by such was going to drive him mad if he didn't just pretend like it was a person.

"No," Kurt said, pulling out one of the stools from under the bar portion of his kitchen counter. "I'm not going to have your AI reprogrammed. I'm sorry, I just…" he paused, searching for words for a moment, "This is all a surprise. I don't quite know how to deal with it all just yet," he finished, checking the time - 1:45 PM - and sighing heavily.

Forty-five minutes. His life had turned upside-down in forty-five minutes.

And he hadn't even eaten lunch yet.

"So you're gonna keep me?" Sam asked, still rooted to the place where Kurt had left him moments before. When Kurt looked up, he couldn't help but soften at what could only be described as full-blown puppy eyes. Brilliant, green, hopeful puppy eyes.

"Yes," Kurt said, "I must have gone mad from hairspray overdose, but yes, I'm going to keep you."

Sam's eyes brightened even further as a wide smile took over his face. "Yessss!" he yelled, fist-pumping the air excitedly. He ran toward Kurt, arms stretched wide for a hug or some other sort of initiation of physical contact, but Kurt put out a stiff arm and pushed him back, touching as little of him as possible.

"First things first, however," Kurt said, averting his eyes, face starting to flush again, "You need to put some clothes on."

Sam looked down at his naked body and then looked back up at Kurt, smiling that smile again.

_'Dopey,'_ Kurt thought. _'He has a dopey grin.'_

"Roger that, Captain Kurt!" He said, saluting, before walking back toward the couch and picking up the plastic bag full of that awful blue fabric.

He watched as Sam opened the packet of the same set of blue scrubs that all Orgobots wore. Kurt physically flinched, his designer instincts horrifically offended by the "clothing."

He looked away again as Sam started to dress, willing his flush to _go down for once_, and cursing himself for his beautiful porcelain skin that couldn't hide a blush if his life depended on it.

"Is this better?" Sam asked, and Kurt looked up, gaze falling on the horrible excuse for an outfit.

"It's worse, actually," Kurt said, and Sam seemed confused. "Those clothes are awful." He elaborated.

Sam shrugged.

"But this is what I'm supposed to wear, right? It's weird if I wear human clothes," he said, looking uncertain.

Kurt sighed.

"Well, it'll do for now," Kurt replied, standing up to finally get himself some lunch. "But it won't do for long."


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N:**I have totally been binge writing in order to get some of my thoughts out before my semester truly starts. I'll be doing things for school most of the time, but I'm going to be writing as often as my motivation allows me to for the duration of this story. Please bear with me, as updates will not be this frequent in the future!

I don't know how I feel about the latter half of this chapter. I know it will be somewhat confusing, but I tried to keep it as clear as possible. Some of it is meant to be confusing, so don't worry if you find yourself with questions!

I really like most of this, so I hope you enjoy as well!

* * *

><p>Kurt was seated on one of the stools at the bar of his kitchen counter, feeling immensely awkward as the minutes ticked by in silence. Well, silent save the somewhat deafening sound of him chewing and swallowing bites of his health-conscious meal. Or, at least it was deafening to him. He had no idea if Sam the Robot could hear it or not.<p>

Sam was standing behind Kurt, and Kurt knew that if he turned around, he'd see him at full attention, wearing that lovely smile and waiting for Kurt to say something.

At the present, Kurt was pointedly _not_ thinking about the awkwardness, but rather about exactly what he was going to do with Sam. Looking at or talking to Sam while thinking such thoughts would not be conducive to the process, however, because Sam himself was _distracting_. He was perfect - Kurt had designed Sam specifically to his taste, after all - and Kurt was easily _distracted _when it came to unfairly sexy men standing just within reach.

And Sam was in reach.

And Sam was more than ready to be closer than just "in reach."

And it had been a very, _very _long time since Kurt had last… Well. With a partner, anyway.

He wasn't a believer in one night stands - romance had always been his cup of tea. He liked to be wined and dined, to have at least somewhat of a bond with whoever it was he was going to be sleeping with. Of course, there were several times in his early twenties where constantly being around male models had driven his hormones into overdrive and led him astray from his candlelight and rose petal path, but generally Kurt didn't just fall into someone's bed, no strings attached.

But, as he sat and thought, trying to decide how to handle this new addition to his daily life, there was a whisper from the devil on his shoulder that told him, in so many words, to _use him for what he was made for until you can't see straight_. Kurt turned his nose up at the horrible, awful, _very bad _idea. He still had his pride, after all.

_'You gave up your pride when you placed that order. You know you're more honest when you drink.'_

Kurt gave himself a mental slap, and went back to trying to look at his situation with the more logical side of himself.

Fact One: He'd purchased a companion Orgobot.

Fact Two: He'd decided to keep it. Him. Which brought him to -

Fact Three: He wanted, for the simplicity's sake, to treat Sam as if he were a person.

Sam was too humanoid - almost eerily so - and Kurt only had a mean streak when he was pushed (the delivery man being a prime example), so to take out his frustration on Sam or hurt his "feelings" would only make Kurt feel ridiculously guilty. He knew that Sam wasn't human, and he also knew that it wasn't normal practice to treat Orgobots as anything but service tools, but it made Kurt's head hurt to try and reconcile Sam's "emotions" with the fact that he wasn't human. He was somewhat disturbed by this, and suddenly understood why some people were fighting for robotic rights, but, in an effort to keep things manageable (if only for the sake of his overstressed mind), he settled on going against the norm and treating Sam as if he were just as human as Kurt himself.

That settled, there was the issue of keeping Sam hidden away from his friends for a least a little while. He didn't think he could deal with their reactions any time soon. He could barely handle _his_knowledge of the whole ordeal, and he definitely didn't need what other people thought of him due to his accidental purchase weighing on his shoulders. Owning a companion model had a certain stigma attached to it, after all.

God, this made him look truly pathetic. Companions were only purchased by forty-something individuals who had gotten a rotten draw in the looks or personality department. They were people who had given up on relationships. Recluses who didn't know how to have relationships. Awkward people. Annoying people. People who made you depressed simply by being in their presence.

Not people like Kurt.

But then again, maybe he _was _one of those people. Maybe there was something wrong with him. He hadn't had a relationship lasting longer than a year, the time between those relationships was getting longer and longer, and the truth was that he wasn't getting any younger. He knew there was still time, but… His history was dark and the future wasn't looking any brighter. He was bitter about the past, and had lost the ability to trust new people that came into his life. He'd been broken by too many people, and his jaded outlook on everything wasn't exactly conducive to working toward a lasting relationship.

Ugh. How unbelievably depressing.

He knew he was lonely… He knew that he'd been slowly caving in on himself, that he was overworking so he wouldn't have to think about the fact that all the people he was attracted to ended up being losers who ultimately tainted the relationship with either manipulation or betrayal. He kept himself busy, poring over his designs and cranking out new fashions at a manic rate; he abused his creativity by pushing his limits so he wouldn't have to face anything that he didn't want to. He kept himself distracted, kept himself exhausted so that he could hit the pillow asleep, away from the thought that he was in his king size bed by himself.

And _this_ was why he hated days off. But his coworkers had insisted, his _friends _had insisted, and now he was free to ponder his screwed up romantic life and after that there was still the problem of Sam.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, having someone around all the time. Someone to interact with. Someone who wanted to spend time with him, who had the time to spend with him. Still, though, that was exactly the reason he couldn't let anyone find out about Sam. If they knew what he'd been really going through, they would coddle and pity him, and while he loved to be spoiled, he didn't want it to be because his love life was in shambles or that the busy lives of his friends left him in constant isolation.

So that was settled. Sam could be a… Friend, of sorts. Something like that. Dammit, Kurt honestly didn't know how this was going to work, but with the situation presented before him, it was his best option. It wasn't as though he could just ignore Sam.

If he were honest, he needed this. He needed someone to care. And, while he was being honest, he could admit that he didn't give a damn if whoever cared was simply _programmed _to do so.

He'd been eating very, _very _slowly as he thought, trying to temporarily forget the presence behind him.

But he was done now, and he'd already come to the conclusion that ignoring Sam wasn't the best angle, so now all that was left was to turn around and talk to It. Him.

He took a sip of his water - his throat had suddenly gone dry - and then stood up and turned to face Sam. It - _he - _was leaning against the back of the couch, looking at his wiggling toes.

Kurt couldn't help the fact that he could already feel himself caving with attraction; Sam was unbearably cute.

It didn't take but a second for Sam to notice that Kurt's attention was on him, and he immediately looked up, standing fully with a small smile on his face.

"What's up?" he asked, and Kurt got the mental image of Sam putting his hands in imaginary pockets. "How was your food?"

Kurt hesitated before his reply. "Good," he breathed, returning Sam's smile, more easily than expected, even if the interaction still made him wary. "It wasn't anything special, just an instant veggie burger and a market apple."

Sam frowned, seeming to process something.

"Are you sure that's enough?" he asked. "I think you probably need to eat more than just that. Cause dude, you don't need to lose any weight." At this, Sam walked forward, stopping just inside Kurt's personal bubble. Kurt stiffened as Sam reached out and stroked his arm. "You know you're beautiful, right?"

_Oh hell._

And he was blown away; he didn't know how to respond to this. These were words he hadn't heard in far too long, and his heart was aching, tortured like a starving man with food just out of reach. He crushed those feelings quickly, however, and latched onto the only thing he could work with in order not to have an emotional meltdown.

Kurt responded by pulling his arm away and taking a step back, noticing that with that step he was pushed all the way up to the counter.

"Don't call me _'dude,'_" he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his nose up. "I'm not your 'bro,' my name is _Kurt_, and I honestly can't believe you'd use something that archaic."

Sam continued giving Kurt that same smile, but his eyes were mischievous. "I like that word, so I'm not sure if I'll remember not to use it," he said. "And you're still beautiful."

Kurt had been fighting back a blush, but now it seemed to be exploding on his face. Damned physical reactions. Urgh.

"Yes, well, you should try to learn my preferences. I don't need any more annoyance than I already get from runway divas who don't know how to respect just who they're wearing."

Sam took a step forward, smirking, and his hand came up to Kurt's arm again, rising to trail upward with gentle fingers.

"Dude, I already know your preferences, so I don't think there's any more I need to learn," he said, sneaking the hand on Kurt's arm up to cup his face.

Kurt was very still as Sam slowly leaned in to close the distance between them. He could feel the warmth of Sam's hand - god, he was even _warm_ - and Sam was only a breath away when his inner _holyshit _alarm went off.

He reacted fast, quickly raising his hands and shoving Sam away. Sam stumbled back, and Kurt put a hand to his chest, eyes wide, and tried to catch his breath.

He hadn't even realized he wasn't breathing.

"Don't do that!" Kurt exclaimed, expression frantic. His mind was reeling, and he averted his gaze as he struggled to get control of himself.

...Was he really so starved for affection?

God, he didn't even want to answer that question. It would only be depressing.

When he looked up, Sam was watching him, worry etched on his features. His brow was crinkled and his eyes looked desperate.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked, nervous caution echoing in his words.

Kurt collected himself, trying to be calm as he told Sam, "You can't do that. You can't do... _those _kinds of things."

Sam just stared at him, totally bewildered.

"But I'm supposed to-"

"I'm saying," Kurt interrupted, "That I don't want you to do… whatever it is you're 'supposed' to do."

Sam dropped his gaze to the floor, confused, before looking up at Kurt with panicked eyes.

"What is it? Did I not do it right? Please, I can learn what to do, _please _don't have me reprogrammed!"

Kurt blinked, surprised at Sam's outburst.

"What? No! I'm not sending you to be reprogrammed," he said, a strange feeling washing over him as he was reminded that Sam wasn't human. God, and he'd almost kissed him. "I just don't want you doing… that."

Sam seemed to calm down a bit, but one of his hands went to the back of his neck, and he looked away again.

"Then what do you want me to do?" he asked quietly.

Kurt was at somewhat of a loss as to what to say. He watched Sam's still frame for a moment before he let out a tired sigh.

"I want you to be my friend," he said, making the statement more of a command. "Do you know what that means?"

Sam turned to look back at him. "Kinda, but that's not what I'm supposed to be."

Kurt put a hand to his forehead, leaning against the counter.

"Friends don't do the things you're programmed to do. We just…" he thought for a moment, trying to come up with some way to explain. "We just talk."

He knew that was a completely lame way to try and get his point across, but he could barely think as it was. So sue him for his lack of eloquence.

Sam paused for a minute, looking as though he didn't quite understand what Kurt meant.

"But didn't you order me for se-"

"No!" Kurt said quickly, blushing intensely and looking away from Sam. "I…" he started, but his breath caught. He swallowed heavily. "I honestly have no idea _what _I was thinking when I ordered you."

_'Liar.'_

"Oh." Sam said simply. There was a very pregnant pause, and when Kurt looked at Sam, he looked so distraught that Kurt was starting to regret his words. But in the next instant, Sam was lighting up. "Do I still get to touch you?" he asked, and Kurt found himself hating how hopeful Sam looked.

He couldn't quite bring himself to completely kill that hope.

"We can… hug," he decided, speaking slowly. "And maybe… other things," he sighed, somewhat exasperated. "I don't know, we'll figure it out."

Sam cocked his head. "Can I give you massages? I'm really good at them!" He held out his hands and wiggled his fingers, much the same way he'd been wiggling his toes earlier.

This would be so much easier if Sam weren't so adorable. How disgustingly unfair.

_'You should just go with it. Let him do what he wants. Look at him, look at how much he **wants** to touch you._

Kurt shot down the thought and cursed himself inside his head.

"Maybe. As long as it doesn't lead to anything more," he said, feeling uncomfortable and _very _unsure about that particular boundary. The thought of a massage from Sam set of warning bells in his head that sounded exactly like Mercedes:

_'Don't you do it Kurt! That idea is worse than the balloon skirt I had to set on fire so you wouldn't put it in your summer line.'_

Sam nodded, looking resolute, as if he were still trying to focus on what Kurt had said. "I'll do my best to be your friend!"

"Good," Kurt said, smiling despite himself.

Sam let his own easy smile come back, and before Kurt could make another move, Sam had run up to him, standing barely inches in front of Kurt. Kurt felt every muscle in his body tense at the sudden closeness.

"It's okay," Sam said softly, putting his hands on Kurt's hips for a moment before slipping his arms around his waist. "It's a hug."

Kurt blinked, somewhat stunned, but forced himself to relax just a bit. It was still strange to him just how _warm _Sam was. He exhaled, his breath shaky, and allowed himself to brifely close his eyes.

He could see himself getting lost in the subtle heat that Sam was radiating. His mind ran away with the thought before he could stop it, and with that he raised his arms, placing his hands on Sam's back in the lightest of touches. When his hands made contact, he realized what he was doing, and only just barely managed to stop himself from tugging Sam forward.

He stayed as he was, barely touching Sam; he didn't trust himself to be any closer to Sam. Kurt vaguely noted, over all the noise in his mind, that the scrubs Sam wore were extremely rough to the touch; he would never subject his own skin to something like that.

Sam tried to pull him in further, but Kurt resisted, moving his hands to Sam's chest and stepping back, forcing Sam to release him.

"Yes," he said, breathless. "Yes, it was a hug."

He kept gently pushing Sam away.

Sam only took a tiny step backward. His brilliant green eyes looked intently into Kurt's, seeming to search for something.

"You have pretty eyes," he said softly. "Blue eyes."

Kurt had to look down from Sam's gaze, feeling somehow exposed, and tried to push Sam further away. He wasn't budging.

Kurt started to feel a tell-tale ache behind his eyes, and god, that was the _last _thing he needed.

"Friends don't stand this close, Sam," he said sternly, trying to ignore the pain in his head. "Back up some."

Sam deflated a bit, but stepped away. He looked at Kurt the entire time he backed his way toward the couch, and, once again, the gaze was so intense that Kurt almost felt pinned to the spot.

"You do though. Ha

"Thank you," Kurt said, unsure of what else he could have responded with. Not knowing what else to do, he turned around and collected his used plate, pausing to take a long sip of cold, soothing water before walking to his sink and dropping the plate in the cleaner.

He rested his hands on the counter, hanging his head as it pulsed ominously. He breathed slowly in and out, feeling Sam watching him all the while.

Kurt would eventually figure out that having Sam watch him was just something he would have to get used to. Just like he would figure out that Sam wasn't going to stop calling him "dude."

But right now his head was throbbing. Oh god, and his minor muscle relaxer had died on him last week. And of course he'd forgotten to get it replaced. _Damn it._

The pain had distracted him enough that he didn't notice Sam right behind him until his arms were slipping around his waist for the second time in five minutes.

Kurt gasped, surprised, but he almost didn't even have it in him to fight it. The ache in his head was intensifying with every passing moment, and, really, he just wanted to lean back into Sam. It had been _so long _since he'd been touched so intimately.

"What's wrong?" Sam said, resting his head on Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut.

"Sam, back up. Please," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Why?" Sam asked, giving Kurt a light squeeze. "It's just a hug. You said we could hug."

Kurt's accelerated heartbeat was not helping the tension spreading from his head to his neck. He put his hands on Sam's arms and forced them to unwrap from around him.

"Friends don't hug from behind," he said, still somewhat breathless. "Lovers do that. We're just friends."

Kurt didn't know whether or not he was talking to Sam or himself. His thoughts were becoming more and more foggy as his headache pressed knives into his temple.

"Okay," Sam said, pulling away and walking back to the living room. Kurt didn't want to turn around, because he knew that he'd only see disappointment written on Sam's face.

"I have a headache," he announced. "My MMR is dead, so I'm going to try to sleep it off."

He didn't look at Sam as he walked across the kitchen and down the hall toward his bedroom. The door slid open as he approached.

He thought that maybe he had some of the capsule pain relievers in one of his bathroom compartments… They were slower than the MMR, but they'd get the job done eventually.

Sam followed him, but didn't enter the bedroom. He watched Kurt from the doorframe.

"Want me to rub your neck?" he called out as Kurt fiddled with pill bottles.

Through the haze of pain, Kurt considered it for a moment. To have those hands, those hands that were probably strong and talented, working his neck and relaxing him would be absolute bliss.

But it would put him in very dangerous territory. Maybe he could handle that sort of thing later, but right now he was vulnerable. He was very vulnerable.

"No," he said, silently thanking the god he didn't believe in when he found the right bottle. He held another bottle in his hand - a sleep aid. He shook out a dose of each. "I can't handle that right now."

This was developing into a migraine, Kurt knew. _Why _did he have to go and let his MMR die? He was fully aware of just how often he got migraines.

"Handle…?" Sam questioned, and Kurt could hear the confusion in his voice.

"I'm getting a migraine, Sam," Kurt said, walking around him as he headed back toward the kitchen for water. "I just need to lie down."

Sam followed Kurt to the kitchen.

"Can I do anything?"

Kurt turned, finally looking at Sam, whose brows were furrowed in concern.

"Not right now. I just need to rest."

"Oh," Sam said, glancing down and then looking back up at Kurt. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," Kurt sighed, walking back to his room. "You can activate the hoverscreen. Or go into sleep mode. Do you have a sleep mode?"

"I do…" Sam said, trailing off and looking uncertain.

"Then use that," Kurt said, turning to face Sam. God, it was only about 2:30 in the afternoon, and already he was down for the day. "I'll see you when this hell's fury has left me."

"Goodnight," Sam said, giving Kurt a little wave.

"Goodnight," Kurt replied, his door sliding shut. He turned and fell onto his bed, relaxed by the cool air of his room and the comfort of the bed.

Later. He would deal with all of this later.

He was in too much pain to think, but it didn't take long for the pain killer and the sleeping pills to kick in. His last conscious thought was of how desperate he was for companionship, and how hard it would be to resist the temptation that was Sam.

* * *

><p>Sam stood outside Kurt's door for a long moment, at somewhat of a loss. His user - Kurt - was confusing. He didn't want Sam for sex, he wanted a <em>friend<em>, and Sam wasn't really sure what to do with that.

He wasn't programmed for friendship. He didn't even really know what that meant. He'd run through his programs and memory for what made friends be friends, but he came up with nothing except that his user was the only one he was activated for interaction with. The only thing he really knew was that Kurt said he didn't want Sam touching him.

But if Sam didn't touch him, he wasn't doing his job! And if he wasn't doing it right, Kurt might have him sent off and his AI replaced, and then he'd just… disappear. He didn't want to disappear. He wanted to stay… He wanted to be with Kurt.

But Kurt didn't want to be touched. He said that it wasn't okay for Sam to do what he was supposed to do.

Sam was lost. He just wanted to please Kurt, to make him happy. That was what he was designed to do.

He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. Maybe….

He activated the hoverscreen and set himself up to sync with it. He waited, and then he felt the click of the active line initiate. He ran a search on "friendship," sat back, and scanned through the data.

Most of it he couldn't make sense of. He couldn't get around what made him different from a friend, especially since he found the "friends with benefits" definition. Was that what Kurt wanted? He'd specified that only lovers hugged from behind… Did that mean that it was okay as long as they didn't treat each other like lovers?

Sam didn't understand. But he had to try. He didn't want to get sent back. He… There was something about the thought of going back, of being shipped away, of disappearing; he didn't know what it was, but it was somehow activating his alert mode, making his AI fire movement signals rapidly - his hands started shaking, and he gripped the edge of the couch harshly as he tried to open the counter program, confused yet again because even it was barely working.

His hold on the couch cushion grew more fierce as his AI fired preservation-induced panic signals that interfered with the other signals crashing through his CPU, and for one crazy moment he was afraid that his programs were corrupting.

He didn't know what would happen if he were sent back, but if that thought was causing all this, he knew it had to be avoided.

To make sure that didn't happen, he had to be what Kurt wanted him to be. That was his job, and was what he had to do in order to stay with Kurt.

He wanted, more than anything, to stay with his user.

He broke the link and sat back, his hands relaxing as his AI signals slowed down. He didn't know what else to do, so he tried to shut down and go into sleep mode, but his program wasn't cooperating. He tried again, and then realized there wasn't any help for it; he couldn't actively go into sleep mode.

He panicked for a moment, the thought that he'd had a software malfunction sending his alert mode back into a violently high state. He brought his hands, which had once again started shaking from the movement signals, up to clutch at his head, his eyes moving rapidly back and forth as he tried canceling the alert program. But it didn't work, and he found himself tripping through his other programs to see if he could find something to scan his system for miswritten data.

His alert mode scaled down as he found what he needed, but… When he ran a scan, nothing turned up wrong. His systems were fine.

Then why couldn't he shut down? What was going on?

He had no idea what to do. What would he tell his user? He couldn't let him know that something was wrong. One of the only solid things he knew was that being sent away was bad, that it absolutely had to be if it tripped his sensors like that. He'd have to think of something to tell him so that Kurt wouldn't send him off to be fixed.

He knew that he wasn't supposed to lie. He wasn't really programmed to lie. But there were loopholes in the programming that his AI found as he searched, and he reorganized the data to allow him to tell Kurt: _I can't go into sleep mode when I'm above twenty percent battery life._

That would have to work. He could only _hope _it would.

Sam could feel his face scrunched up from his panic, could feel through his sensors that something was reacting in ways that he didn't understand. Oh god, was he missing programs?

He pulled up the active line again, running a search for what he might be missing, but no matter what he went through on the Orgobot open DSL server, he came up with nothing.

There was something wrong with him. He was miswired somehow.

His panic mode almost activated for a third time, but he was able to shut it down quickly with the counter program. Even after that, his AI was still firing signals like mad.

He'd have to hide that from Kurt too. His user seemed like he didn't know much about the way he functioned, so maybe it'd be okay.

He closed his eyes, eliminating the sight signal so that his processor had less to deal with; maybe he could get more control this way.

But the thought was still lingering: he didn't want to go back!

He tried forcing the alert program to quit, but it was a central part of the preservation programming, and it was difficult to shut down.

He leaned back, searching through all the new data he'd taken in today in an effort to transition his response programming from alert to standard.

His AI brought up Kurt's face, and Sam focused on it, the pale skin, the slightly rounded nose, the rosy cheeks. He had a beautiful face.

But Sam's favorite thing was his eyes.

The rapid-fire signals slowed, and his hands stopped shaking. Panic mode shifted into standard, and he felt his systems calm.

He passed some of the time by replaying his interaction with Kurt, analyzing his reactions and his expressions to be stored for reference.

Flashing blue eyes. Surprised blue eyes. Warm blue eyes.

Pretty blue eyes.


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N: **An update! I was inspired to finish this up by WIP-Day-for-Kummers on tumblr. But...

=_=;;; You guys, I don't even know what this chapter is. Everything is taking too long and the progression is freaking MOLASSES but this is all necessary, really, to set up the scene for interesting things that will happen later. Next chapter will be much more entertaining, I promise! I hope I don't completely bore you to death or that the reaction isn't a giant wtf was this sort of deal, but yeah.

I'm really somewhat dissatisfied with all this, and have re-written several bits quite a few times, but it is what it is. Again, I apologize for the fillery nature of this chapter. OTL

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><p>Despite having gone to bed in the middle of the afternoon the day before, Kurt didn't actually wake up until five o'clock the following morning. He was surprised that he'd slept for nearly fifteen hours… And, yes, he <em>was<em>going to ignore the fact that it was a sign that he was slowly exhausting himself, thank you kindly.

He groggily made his way out of bed, getting up to begin his morning routine; this routine started with, before all else, a steaming hot mug of his favorite in-home morning beverage, a perfect mixture of hazelnut (light roast) coffee, skim milk, and one teaspoon of raw sugar.

He was still in the same comfort-clothes he'd put on the morning before, thankfully having stayed dressed down for once, and so didn't bother with a robe as he wandered to the kitchen.

He walked to the kitchen's main touchpad, activated its hoverscreen, and brought up the program for the (rather expensive, but oh so worth it) coffee maker. He put in his order, and had turned around to lean against the kitchen counter when his mind's early-morning fog was suddenly cleared out by the one little thing that he'd managed not to remember in the ten or so minutes he'd been awake.

Sam.

Kurt held back the need to groan in frustration as Sam quite rudely intruded into his thoughts. It was _far_too early for this.

But while he was on the thought, where exactly _was_Sam?

Kurt turned his head, peering into the living room over the bar, but saw no sign of his newly acquired… friend.

He pushed himself off the counter, wondering where Sam could be as he walked past the bar to the living room. He wouldn't have left the apartment, surely. Maybe he was on the couch?

But when he looked over the couch, there was no Sam resting on it. He glanced around the rest of the room, but didn't see him anywhere. He frowned in confusion, but was half hoping it had all been some sort of twisted, terrible nightmare his demented psyche had come up with to torture him further about being alone.

He found he was completely out of luck, however, when he turned back toward the kitchen and saw Sam sprawled out on the floor beneath the bar, his head tilted toward Kurt. His eyes were closed and he was very, very still.

Kurt carefully moved closer to the… sleeping… Sam, and crouched down about a foot away from him, noticing that, once again, there was a gentle rise and fall to his chest. He was curious to know about why that was, but for the moment he was distracted.

It was still dark out, and the light from the kitchen was casting shadows on Sam's face, but as Kurt watched, he noticed that Sam looked almost… calm.

He supposed he'd thought that an inactive Sam would be blank-faced, much the same way that Sam had been when he'd first woken up and when he'd read the warranty out for Kurt, but his lips were parted and his brows relaxed, giving off the impression that he was perfectly at rest.

Kurt's expression softened. He knew it sounded creepy, but he liked to watch people sleep. He loved seeing how they looked when they were both vulnerable and unclouded by anxiety or other pesky emotions; he often wondered if he himself ever managed to look content while he was sleeping.

He wanted to reach out and touch Sam's face, caress his cheek and feel the warmth he knew would be there. He wondered if Sam would lean into the touch like his past lovers had, or if maybe he would turn away, unused to the feel of someone so close to him.

He was snapped out of his musings at the soft sound of the alert voice gently telling him that his coffee was ready. He sighed, berating himself for his thoughts (but chalking it up to the simple equation of morning-minus-coffee equals sleep-drunken stupor), and went to the kitchen to fetch his much needed drug of choice. As he took his first sip, he thought to himself that he should suggest that Sam at least sleep (or whatever it was he was doing) on the couch next time.

He went about the rest of his morning routine (flawless skin didn't happen by itself), and wondered if Sam would wake up before he left for the studio.

He was grateful that, as he was walking out the door, Sam was still laying under the bar, inactive.

* * *

><p>Kurt exhaled forcefully, glaring at his portscreen as irritation flared up and shot tension down his spine. Was it really, honestly so <em>hard<em> to have a dimension option for _all_ of your fabrics? For god's sake, it was 2112, one would _think_that his fabric workers would have started using the option by now. He'd been picking through swatches from his favorite, high-quality store, and so far he'd only been able to get all the dimensions for three out of the ten he'd viewed.

_How am I supposed to work like this? I can't even match up my sketches this way!_

Kurt was frustrated, and the knowledge that his frustration was, for the most part, his own fault, didn't help at all.

After all, one of the reasons he was famous was because of his stubborn attention to _every_ detail, right down to how the fabric felt to the touch. The only way for him to have _any_ sort of clue about that, when shopping online, was for his sources to have a fucking _dimension option._Was it so much to ask?

Another reason he was famous was that he didn't cut corners - while some designers had taken to upping their sketches to their portscreens (or just drawing them there to begin with) and running searches for the fabrics that matched the colors and patterns drawn, Kurt still went through select fabric stores and picked out his choices by hand. Each of his pieces was created in the _exact_likeness of his original design.

But dealing with all that tedious work, _especially_ when he couldn't see the fabrics on every level, was probably going to make him go grey early. And that would be endlessly tragic - even if he covered it up, he would still _know_.

"D.O.'s not up again?" Tina (not Mike's Tina, god, that would make work unbearably awkward), his assistant, asked. She sat at the worktable to Kurt's right, patiently hand-stitching the tailoring needed for one of Kurt's pieces to fit their newest model.

"No, of course they're not up," Kurt replied, harshly scrolling across his portscreen's small touchpad until he was back to the main DSL. "I don't know why the most fabulous fabric workers have failed to join us in the technology department, thus making my life miserable; sometimes I think they do it just because they can. They know they're the best, so they do what they want and people still froth at the mouth and fight over what they see."

He could almost _feel_Tina raising her eyebrow at him.

"You know you're one of those people, right?" She asked, amusement dancing behind her words.

Kurt huffed, closed out his portscreen, and sighed heavily.

"I am, unfortunately, all-too aware of that fact," he said, sliding off his stool and walking to Tina's workspace. "How's the fitting coming along?"

The dark-haired woman gave him a long-suffering look.

"Slowly," she replied. "You are absolutely evil for making me work around this stitching."

"I can't help it if Gisselle had a total diva meltdown and we had to have a call-in last minute," he said, obviously annoyed at the memory. "But I am sorry that I asked you to do this - you know I just don't have the time. These idiotic 'days off' are eating up my valuable-"

"Stop right there, Kurt Hummel," Tina interrupted, raising her voice to talk over him. "You need those breaks more than you realize. You know you're overworking - you've lost weight when you definitely don't need to, and you've got circles under your eyes. And don't think I don't know that you've been covering them up with foundation. You know I can spot a makeup cover from a mile away."

She was frowning, and held Kurt's gaze until he had to look away. He hated that she was scolding him like this when she couldn't possibly understand his motivations.

But he couldn't take out any of his anger on her, or relay any of his sadness to her. It was too… personal. It was something he'd been hiding for a long time, and he didn't want anyone to realize just how much he was struggling to keep himself together. He'd been to hell and back in high school, fought his way through harsh criticism and been told "no" more times than he could count, both in his personal life and his professional life. He was strong. He'd been strong for his friends, for his family, and for himself.

He couldn't allow that strength to dissolve or for the facade he'd built up to start cracking, no matter how evident it was becoming that he was starting to break down. He _absolutely_couldn't, no matter how much he really needed help.

"I know you're right," Kurt said, after a long pause. "But I'm just so used to working. I don't know what to do with myself when I'm away from all _this_," he said, waving his hand to indicate everything around them.

She raised her eyebrows, putting down the garment she was working on to start listing off things on the fingers of her right hand. "List of Things Kurt Hummel Could Do to Have a Life Outside of Work: Get a hobby that's got nothing to do with work. Go out to those musicals you love so much, or start writing your own or something - you always used to talk about how much you love musicals. Hell, you used to _be_ in musicals. What happened to all that?" She asked, and when Kurt looked like he was ready to interrupt, she bowled over his protest. "Do something to get outside of your head and away from fashion for a minute. Maybe you could start watching some shows on the hoverscreen; read trashy novels; get together with your friends, spend some time with someone who isn't me. There are lots of things you can do, Kurt, you're just not _looking_for them."

Kurt blinked, somewhat overwhelmed by all of this, but also feeling himself going into defense mode, ready to snark back that _'I really don't have the time for all that; brilliance doesn't come from laziness, you know, and I certainly don't need anything distracting me from progress. You of all people should know that a designer's mind is never at rest.'_

But even as he felt the tingling of irritation flow down his skin, his resolve to argue with her about this was breaking down. His body was starting to feel heavy, and he all but collapsed back down onto his stool. All he could do was let his head fall on the crossed arms he'd thrown down on the worktable.

"Dear god, you're right. I have no life!" he exclaimed, sitting up dramatically, forcing a smile as he turned to face his assistant. "I think I'll take you up on some of those suggestions, oh concerned mother mine."

She quirked an eyebrow at him, smirking a little. "Of course, time off for you means time off for me, so you better know that I really just have my own interests at heart here. You work me like a slave, Hummel."

"Please," Kurt huffed, rolling his eyes, "It's the only way to get anything done around here. If I don't crack the whip, you'll end up getting distracted by that awful porny fiction you write for whatever show it is you're so obsessed with."

"It's a good show," she shot back, her smirk turning devious. "And you know you loved reading my porn."

"I will never understand how a proud lesbian can write erotic fiction about two males. Although," he said, turning to activate his portscreen again, a mischievous smile on his face, "I will admit that it was… interesting. Your works of 'literature' are better than some of the other things I've had the rather masochistic pleasure of reading."

"I stand by my original statement," she said, picking up where she'd left off with her needlework, "You love it."

And Kurt did. He really did. Getting lost in those stories of love overcoming hardships, of people who belong together getting their happy ending… Those sorts of things were what Kurt had always been hoping for.

He'd had to stop reading them because, honestly? They made him too upset when he compared them to the tragic state of his love life.

He shook those thoughts away, bringing up the DSL for an alternative fabric worker, and unleashed an exasperated sigh when the first swatch he pulled up came up with a 'location not found' for its dimension option.

_'Fuck.'_

* * *

><p>Kurt was planning on getting home and pouring himself a drink, despite the fact that he'd sworn off alcohol only the day before. His excuse was that he couldn't possibly do anything more stupid than ordering a companion - except perhaps drunk dial an ex - so what was the harm in a little relaxation?<p>

He knew that it was really just that he didn't want to think about anything. He'd left work two hours before his usual time, because for some reason, even throwing himself into his creative zone wasn't distracting him from feeling endlessly sorry for himself.

He couldn't get away from thoughts of Sam and what it meant that Kurt had ever placed the order at all. Or what would happen now that Sam would be a constant presence.

What was really the right way to go about treating Sam? How would they interact? Did this make him the worst kind of desperate? Was using Sam as a friend really any different from using Sam as a lover? Should he just say fuck it to all the money he spent and have Sam shipped back?

Hell, what was Sam even _doing_right now? How did he keep himself occupied if Kurt wasn't there? But then again, did it even matter whether he was entertained or not?

Kurt shook his head. _'Stop right there. Now is not the time to try and understand technology. And you already decided to treat him like a person. You can't keep wavering on that.'_

Those thoughts were making him tired. Despite leaving the studio early and sleeping so long the night before, he was still feeling exhausted. His mind was abuzz (hence the need for alcohol), but he could feel his body wanting to give out.

He was exceedingly thankful when he made it to his door, tiredly placing his palm on the lock pad and taking heavy steps into his apartment.

Sam was waiting for him, standing with a beautiful smile just inside the entrance hall.

"Welcome home!" he exclaimed, smile brightening as he walked over to where Kurt stood, surprised. Sam stopped, yet again, just inside of Kurt's personal space, and before Kurt could tell him to move back, Sam's arms were wrapping around his waist and he was being pulled into an embrace. "How was your day?"

Kurt lost his breath, and felt the tension in himself collapse. His heart stopped for a moment before starting up again at a frantic pace, and he could feel something beginning to break within him.

It was unfair. It was _absolutely_unfair how easily he'd come undone in the arms of this blond who had only been in his life for a day.

Of course, Sam had no way of knowing that what he'd said was exactly what Kurt needed to hear, that it was the only thing he'd been _wanting_to hear for over a year now.

He just wanted someone to support him, to be there when he needed them. He knew he had his friends, but there was something special about this, about someone who had no distractions, who saw only Kurt. There was something special about being the most important person to someone else.

His arms dangled at his sides as he lost himself in the feeling of being held, but soon enough he started to come back to himself. But even as his mind started functioning again, he allowed himself to briefly escape, raising his arms to return the hug and holding Sam close to him. But only for a moment.

When he pushed Sam away, he forced a shaky smile; smiling was the only thing that kept him from bursting into tears, tears of something between relief and sadness. His heart thundered as he grasped for something to say, and he took a deep breath. Sam moved to the side to allow him to step into the living room.

"My day was okay," he started, still a bit breathless as he toed off his shoes. "It was typical - stressful, but not overly so. My fabric workers' DSL's frustrated me, but there's nothing unusual about that. They are almost always frustrating. I swear to god their DLS's are the bane of my existence, and if they weren't so essential to what I do then I'd find a way to destroy the people who run them."

Sam chuckled a little, and the sound made Kurt's stomach clench.

"Destroy is pretty harsh word," he said, following Kurt as he walked into the living room. "I mean, you could just off them, end it fast, but you wanna _destroy_them. That's kinda brutal."

"Trust me, they would deserve anything I threw at them," Kurt said, still struggling to get control over his emotions. He eyed the touchpad on the wall and debated whether or not it was actually a good idea to have a drink.

"I mean, I wouldn't know," Sam said, shrugging. "But if they're that awful, I'm on your side. I definitely don't wanna be on your hit list, anyway, since, you know, you like destroying people who piss you off."

Kurt glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Sam was smiling at him softly, standing with one hand on the back of the couch and the other resting at his side. The picture made something swell in Kurt's chest, and he mentally shook himself to get rid of all the unwanted feelings.

Liquor was definitely in order.

"Good," he said simply, fingers dancing across the touchpad to bring up his liquor stash. His heart was still pounding. Honestly, had _all_of his self-control withered and died? "It's certainly in your best interests, anyway."

The compartment opened, and Kurt began his minor quest for the perfect drink to escape with. He went over his choices in much the same way he had on that cursed night nearly a week and a half ago. He settled on a vodka tonic, and reached in for the bottle.

"What are you doing?"

Kurt nearly jumped out of his skin at the words murmured _way_ too close to his ear, and it was a miracle he didn't drop the bottle. He hadn't even noticed Sam come up behind him at all, and then to suddenly have him _right there_made his heart start to thunder yet again, both from surprise and some of those other threatening emotions he'd been pushing down since he'd walked in the door.

"Don't do that!" Kurt snapped, rounding on Sam. He quickly backed away, his eyes going wide in surprise and confusion.

"Do what?" Sam asked, bewildered, before his shoulders slumped and he looked away. "I just wanted to see what you were doing…"

It was ridiculous how quickly guilt lodged itself in Kurt's stomach.

"No, it's not that," he said quickly. "You just… you scared the_ hell _out of me. You can't sneak up on me like that, or else I'll _really_go grey early." He said, brushing past Sam and heading to the kitchen to make his much-needed drink.

A hand on his arm stopped him.

"You're drinking, aren't you? Have you eaten yet?" Sam asked, and Kurt looked at him, unable to place the tone in his voice.

"Yes, I am, and no, I haven't," Kurt replied, tugging his arm away. Sam's face eased back into a soft smile that made Kurt feel both warm and wary.

"Go sit down. I'll get your drink and make you something to eat," Sam said, pushing Kurt toward the couch. His tone was sultry as he added, "Just tell me what you want, and I promise it'll be good."

Kurt was both horrified and amused when Sam waggled his eyebrows as he said that last sentence; the innuendo was definitely not lost on him, but let himself be led to the couch, where he took a seat.

"You can cook?" he asked, not wanting to acknowledge Sam's flirting.

"Yup," he said, nodding emphatically. "I'm good at it, too. What are you hungry for?"

Kurt looked over his shoulder and watched Sam walk into the kitchen. He stopped in front of the sink and then looked out at Kurt from over the bar, his eyebrows raised.

"Well…?"

Kurt blinked stupidly for a moment, feeling caught off-guard.

"Something simple is fine," he replied, somewhat shaken when he realized that he was the one being taken care of for once. "I… I have some chicken breasts and vegetables from market yesterday in the fridge."

"Gotcha," Sam said, looking around. "Where is it?"

"Run your fingers up the left hand side of the wall next to the stove," Kurt instructed, pointing over the couch and choosing to ignore how nice it was to have someone want to cook for him. "The chicken will be on one of the shelves, and the veggies in the bottom drawer. Use the touchpad just above the cleaner drop to bring up the spices and open the compartments for the pans and utensils."

"Cool," Sam said, grinning at Kurt before moving to open the refrigeration compartment. "I'm on it!"

Kurt watched him for a moment before turning back around, suddenly feeling strange with nothing to occupy him. He was starting to feel awkward about just sitting there.

He picked up the touchpad, fiddling with it for a moment before deciding to put on some music - one of his ancient broadway plays - and sat back, letting his body sink into the couch.

Still, though, he couldn't quite relax. He was completely unused to being pampered, and found himself not really knowing what to do, and feeling anxious because of that.

Sighing, he stood from the couch and went to sit on one of the stools at the bar. He watched Sam wash a head of broccoli in the sink, trying to think of something to say.

"So what did you do all day?" Kurt finally settled on asking.

"I waited for you," Sam said, only glancing up at Kurt briefly from where he was retrieving a green pepper to wash. Kurt waited for him to say something more, but Sam didn't open his mouth again.

"Well, yes," Kurt said, "But what did you do _while_you waited?"

"What do you mean?"

"How did you pass the time?" Kurt asked, before the fact that Sam wasn't human came to the fore in his mind, disturbing him a little just as it always did. "Or were you just in sleep mode the whole time?"

Sam froze for the briefest of moments before responding.

"I couldn't go into sleep mode. I charged fully last night and I can't activate it unless I'm at or below twenty percent battery life."

"Oh," Kurt said, somewhat surprised, but now even more curious. "So then what were you doing?"

"Nothing, I guess," Sam replied, shrugging. "I was gonna clean but everything here is already practically sparkling. So I just waited."

Kurt looked at him, completely incredulous. "So you sat around alone, doing nothing, for at least several hours while I was gone?"

"Pretty much," Sam replied, now cleaning button mushrooms. "I don't know what all I can do without you here. You said I could use the hoverscreen yesterday, but that was only for then, right? So I wasn't sure what would be okay."

Kurt had the mental image of Sam sitting around, twiddling his thumbs, and while it was undeniably cute, he also couldn't imagine spending a whole day doing absolutely _nothing_.

"Well from here on out, you're allowed to use the hoverscreen whenever you want. You might go mad if you don't ever do anything; I know I go off-the-charts insane if I don't stay busy."

"Awesome!" Sam said, touching the faucet to turn off the water before reaching up to dry his hands on the towel next to the sink. "It kinda took forever for you to get back. I played like thirty games of solitaire, but that got old pretty fast."

Kurt smiled, holding back a laugh. The thought of Sam getting fed up with the same repetitive game amused him to no end.

"Well I wouldn't want you to simply rot away from boredom," Kurt said, beginning to feel relaxed. He glanced away from Sam for a moment, and spied the bottle of vodka sitting on the counter.

He'd forgotten all about his drink.

He decided that maybe he didn't need it, after all, and wondered if that had been planned on Sam's part.

"So what part of your job pisses you off the most?" Sam asked, retrieving a knife and starting to chop the freshly washed vegetables.

"Oh, god," Kurt said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "The easier question would be to ask me why I enjoy it."

"Then I'll ask that," Sam replied.

"I've been drawing since I was old enough to hold a crayon," Kurt started, "And everything I drew always focused on clothes."

And with that he launched into the story of how he'd coordinated the outfits of the dolls they had in his class in kindergarten, and, despite his father's protests, his mother had gone out and bought him dolls of his own. They'd worked some to make dresses and blouses and skirts every day, all the way up until his mother was too sick to do much of anything. But even after she had passed away, the dream had never died.

However, if you'd told him about all the drama he'd be dealing with in his career, he might have changed his mind. After all, he'd had an "incident" with his last model because her girlfriend, who was another model, had been caught flirting with one of the male models for Kurt's upcoming show, and so she'd had a diva fit and stormed off, declaring that she _"doesn't have to put up with this den of debauchery"_ and _"if you were more professional, you wouldn't let your models even interact with each other!"_ Neither of these accusations made any sense, of course, but it had put Kurt in a bind - she'd already been fitted, and now they had to call in another model to take her place. The clothes had to be tailored, and it was a huge mess, and _ugh_, why were these things that were so necessary to to his work so absolutely infuriating?

"It's like _everything_ is against you in fashion," Kurt ranted, waving his hands animatedly, "The models don't cooperate, and it's next to impossible to make a name for yourself. But _after_ you're famous, criticism hits harder than ever before, and negative critique is only that much more discouraging because then _everyone_ knows your design was awful. And I swear, nobody appreciates the effort it takes, except for those few other designers who really understand attention to detail… In todays industry, with all the technology available, designers are cutting corners and _still_becoming the rising stars. I will never understand why it's suddenly okay to sacrifice quality to save your blood and tears."

"So why do you love it so much?" Sam asked. "I mean, you've said that it was always your dream, and then you told me about everything that makes you mad about it, but you never said why you keep with it."

Kurt looked up at Sam, who had turned around from the stove to face him. He met Sam's eyes as the food in the pan behind him sizzled.

"This is going to sound redundant, but I love it because it's my passion. When I see my ideas and the things I want to express come to life in the form of the perfect outfit, there's something in me that feels more complete. Doing this is a part of me now, and even with all of the awful things I put up with, there is nothing more fulfilling than watching a runway full of models parade around my latest works for all the world to see. And if people really _get_what I'm trying to say, then it makes everything so, so worth it."

Sam's eyes crinkled as he smiled widely at Kurt.

"See, you just gotta remember that when those people's DSL's don't do what you want. You don't have to_ destroy_anybody over it."

Kurt rolled his eyes at the mirth he saw in Sam's brilliant green ones.

"So naive, Sam, dearest; so naive," he said, shaking his head.

"Maybe so," Sam said, turning back around and shaking the pan a few times. "But you know I'm right about keeping why you love it in mind. It'll help stop that grey hair I saw on the back of your head."

"What?" Kurt squealed, but relaxed when Sam laughed a little. He crossed his arms, indignant. "That's nothing to joke about, Sam."

"Sure, sure," Sam replied, turning and taking the pan off the heat. "Food's ready. Chicken and vegetable stir-fry. Do you want a salad or anything with it?"

Kurt shook his head.

"No, just that will be fine," he said, making to stand from his seat at the bar.

"You sit." Sam told him firmly. "Where are the plates? And do you still want that drink?"

"Plates are there," Kurt said, pointing to their compartment, "And no, I'll just have a water now. Alcohol isn't on the menu for me tonight."

Sam plated some of the food, poured a glass of water, and placed the two items in front of Kurt, who grabbed a napkin from the end of the bar and shook it out, putting it in his lap before picking up his fork.

He paused when Sam didn't move.

"Do you… Do you eat, too?" he asked.

"I mean, I can," Sam said. "I ate MAFS earlier though."

"MAFS?"

"Maintenance and Fuel Substance."

Oh. Right.

Kurt speared some chicken and a piece of broccoli onto his fork. "But you can eat normal food?"

"Sure," he replied, "It doesn't hurt my system. You ordered the full package, so I can do things that other people would normally do with you, like eat together and stuff. Do you want me to eat with you?"

A wave of heavy discomfort washed over Kurt at those words, because he was suddenly very aware of the fact that Sam was a _companion_. He was the worst _kind_of companion, too, because he was made to be a full replacement for human companionship. Kurt couldn't just pretend that he'd ordered a sex doll, which, in his opinion, was far less embarrassing, because Sam interacted on a very advanced level.

Kurt looked down at his food, and forced himself to take a bite, despite the odd feeling in his throat.

And damn, it really _was_good.

"I… Not tonight." Kurt said after swallowing. He wasn't quite willing to take that step. He would have to, eventually, if he want to keep true to his "Sam is a person and he does people things" mentality, but after hearing Sam so casually refer to himself as Kurt's "order," he didn't think he could handle watching him eat. He'd spend too much time wondering about the mechanics of it all.

"Alright," Sam said.

It was quiet after that, only the music playing softly throughout the house disturbing the otherwise silent atmosphere. It was somewhat uncomfortable for Kurt, who could feel Sam's eyes on him. He didn't want to look at Sam and be reminded, yet again, of the mess his life had become.

When Kurt finished, Sam collected his plate and dropped it into the cleaner.

"Was it good?" he asked, and Kurt could hear the hope in his voice.

"It was. Thank you," he replied, still not looking at Sam as he stood and walked to the entrance hall, where he collected his messenger bag to get his sketchpad and portscreen. Sam was on his heels. _'Like a puppy.'_

"See, I knew you'd like it," Sam said, tone cheerful.

"If you'll excuse me, Sam, I've got a few things that I want to finish up with from work. I'll be in my room, and I probably won't be out again until tomorrow," Kurt said, finally looking up to meet Sam's gaze.

Ugh, that was a mistake. Sam looked as if he'd just been scolded harshly for something he didn't even do.

"Okay," he said. "I guess… I'll see you tomorrow."

_'Oh hell,'_ Kurt thought. _'Since when do I have a weakness for puppy eyes?_'

"…I can stay out here and work," Kurt said, hesitantly. "As long as you're quiet."

Sam brightened considerably.

"Sure! I can be quiet," Sam said, smiling. "What are you gonna do?"

Kurt made his way over to the couch and sat down. Sam plopped down next to him as Kurt rooted through his messenger bag for his portscreen and sketchpad.

"I'm going to up some of my sketches to my portscreen and my home screen, and clean them up a bit, which shouldn't take too long. After that I'm going to check my messages. Nothing too exciting." Kurt replied.

"Sounds cool though," Sam said. "Do you always draw by hand first?"

Kurt nodded, placing the sketchpad on the table and activating both his portscreen and the hoverscreen. "I think it's more convenient and accurate to use a sketchpad first, even though there are a lot of people who disagree with me. I think drawing it using the portscreen makes it too easy for you to second guess your designs, and in my experience, instinct is far better than over-analysis."

He set up the upload program, aligning the scanlights from both screens to the first image on the sketchpad, and waited for the few seconds it took for the image to process and appear on each screen.

Sam seemed mesmerized by the picture.

"So that's one of your designs?" he asked, and when Kurt looked at him, he saw that Sam's eyes were wide and he was licking his lips.

Kurt smiled a little, and couldn't help but feel a little flattered.

"Yes," he replied. "Now hush, I need to start cleaning it, and if you break me out of my zone there will be consequences," Kurt said, raising an eyebrow in threat; the effect was somewhat lost, however, due to the smile he couldn't fight down.

"Okay," Sam replied. "You won't even know I'm here."

But, as Kurt continued to work, it turned out that Sam _couldn't_ keep his mouth shut. Every few minutes there was a question (_What is that one supposed to feel like? How'd you come up with that? What's this one trying to say?_), but Kurt found that he wasn't getting annoyed. It had been a long time since any of his friends had shown an active interest in his work, and it was kind of nice getting to explain his ideas to someone who seemed so impressed by everything he did.

And so they sat together, Kurt cleaning and Sam watching, until Kurt finally put it all away to go to bed.

He stood up from the couch and stretched a bit, turning to Sam, who stood up as well. "I'm going to bed," he said. "And like I said before, you can use the hoverscreen whenever you want - just don't be too loud. Oh, and when you do go to… rest… or whatever, do it on the couch this time. It makes my neck hurt to think of you on the floor."

Sam stepped forward quickly and, yet again, enveloped Kurt in a hug. Kurt inhaled sharply and felt his pulse quicken, and vaguely wondered whether or not this sort of thing was good for his heart.

"Goodnight, Kurt." Sam said.

"Yes," Kurt breathed, refusing to succumb to Sam's warmth and patting him twice on the back before moving away. "Goodnight."

When Kurt entered his room, he looked at his bed. The night had been one of the best he'd had in a long time… A good way to end it would have been not to be alone as he fell asleep.

His mind drifted briefly to Sam sitting in the living room, but he shot down that thought immediately and went about his nightly routine before falling into bed.

He could get very used to Sam.

He supposed he would _have_to get very used to Sam.

His heart fluttered as he thought about the feel of Sam against him as they hugged, as he thought of how eager Sam had been to take care of him. And yes, all of this was very dangerous.

But he didn't think dealing with it would be quite as awful as he'd originally thought.


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee and am in no way affiliated with the show or its creators.  
><strong>AN:**My creys. There is so much description and thinking in this chapter. I really hope it doesn't turn some of you guys off. I mean. I just. It's so far out of my normal writing style that I'm crazy nervous about posting it. I just can't see if it's good or not. ;_; Also, if you need some clarification about the things that Sam feels/says/does, let me know. It's okay if you're confused. I would be too. I don't mind clarifying!

The progression is also upsetting me, because things are just so. Slow. And I know I sort of ended it in a weird spot, but trust me, I had to do it that way. So I'm sorry for that, too. OTL

But I hope you enjoy anyway.

* * *

><p>Kurt tapped the blunt end of his pencil against the corner of his mouth as he frowned down at his work, distracted.<p>

He had an issue. He'd actually been having this issue for almost a week now, and it was getting to the point that even _looking_at Sam was making his skin crawl.

He'd felt first hand just how coarse the fabric of that sorry blue excuse for an outfit was, and imagining having to feel that rough burlap material all over his body all day every day made Kurt cringe. Sam didn't seem to think anything of his clothes, and never mentioned being uncomfortable, but Kurt couldn't allow that insult to fashion to be paraded around his apartment any longer.

The solution, then, was simple: Sam needed new clothes. And so Kurt would have to get him some.

But the issue wasn't really the clothes themselves… It was the fact that, by allowing Sam to wear something other than what he came with, Kurt was stepping ever farther away from what was socially acceptable treatment of Orgobots. After all, there were some things that you just didn't _do_, and dressing up your Orgobot was one of those things - they weren't human, so they shouldn't wear human clothes. Having them wear the standard blue uniform was a way of keeping them in their place, below and separate from people. It served as a reminder that they were something "less than," and that people should keep a certain amount of distance away from them.

Despite the consensus that Orgobots were sub-human, there was still a big mess concerning "rights" for them. There were quite a few people who were uncomfortable with just how advanced their AI was, arguing that, if Orgobots were programmed to feel pain in order to run a preservation program, then shouldn't there be laws concerning assaulting or sabotaging them? There was also plenty of dangerous ethical debate, where some radicals proposed that Orgobotic AI gave them ability to "think" and "reason", and that these abilities granted them some form of personhood. Those people were outnumbered, however, by the majority that claimed that Orgobots should have as many rights as a hoverscreen - they were tools that you could interact with and that was that.

Even with all the heavy debate and controversy, there was one thing that everyone seemed to agree on: humans should only form relationships with other _humans_. Orgobots were not people, no matter how much they looked and acted like they were; they were a mess of machine and organic material, and the only reason they did anything was because they were programmed to do it. To fall in love with an Orgobot was something like falling in love with a character in a movie - no matter how human they seemed, they just weren't _real_. Forming a romantic relationship with an Orgobot was just as laughable and pathetic as pining after a fictional character.

And so relationships between humans and Orgobots - relationships that went anything beyond user/tool - were frowned upon. Actually, to say that they were "frowned upon" was being _very_generous, considering the disgusted eye most people turned on a person if they were even remotely suspicious that the human might harbor intimate feelings for their property.

Of course, everyone knew that the kind of people who ordered full companion models existed, but the concept of it just wasn't something people talked about, and you only ever heard in whispers about someone who knew someone who had heard from someone else that such-and-such had bought a companion. And such-and-such, bless their soul, was usually the kind of person other people avoided at all costs; they were the people that other people had given up on trying to interact with. They were outcasts, in a way, isolated due to character flaws or, sadly enough, physical defects. Companions were their last hope in finding someone to care for them.

You ordered a companion when no one else would love you.

And that was why Kurt was so appalled with himself when he'd opened up that package to see Sam at his feet. He couldn't - he just _couldn't_- be one of those people.

And it still disturbed him, really, that he'd made the order, but as the days went by, he could honestly admit that having Sam around was… nice. There were still boundaries, of course, because even if he _had_placed the order, that didn't make it okay to start a relationship with Sam. He could just see his career going up in flames; the press would have a field day, and his colleagues would mock him and sneer at him until the end of time - there were no shortages of bitches in fashion, after all. He'd always kept his private life very private, but people still loved to talk, and ordering a companion was something that he would never live down. He wasn't even sure how his friends would react, though he knew that pity would be a major player in how they felt toward him, and- and perhaps even… disgust.

So even though it seemed such a small thing, by getting Sam regular clothes Kurt was definitely walking on the fringe of "acceptable" (if someone else _were_ to find out about Sam, it would make him look even more desperate), and was even taking a personal risk; not constantly seeing the blue clothing would be one less reminder to Kurt about Sam's true nature. This was something that frightened Kurt a bit, because although he was choosing to treat Sam as if he were human, completely forgetting that Sam wasn't a person was dangerous in that it could lead him to truly become one of _those_people.

But in the end, his inner fashionista won out over his other worries. He told himself that giving Sam human clothes didn't mean anything in any sort of metaphor or other such garbage; he was doing it more for his own sake than Sam's, really. And so he put aside his issues, and instead thought carefully on how exactly he should go about getting these clothes.

The easiest way to do it, of course, would be to simply shop via DSL. Kurt could pick out a few items for Sam to wear around the house so he could be at ease again. They wouldn't even have to leave the apartment.

…That was another thing that had been on Kurt's mind. Was it really okay for him to keep Sam in the apartment all the time? Sam had never complained, but, then again, he didn't know any better. He didn't know what there was to life outside of the apartment, and that thought greatly bothered Kurt, who couldn't imagine living within the limitations of four walls.

So maybe Kurt was feeling a bit guilty. He knew that Sam didn't mind boredom, but it seemed cruel to leave him sitting around with nothing to do for hours and hours every day. Kurt _had_been coming home early and finishing up work while Sam watched and they talked, but that still left a good chunk of time each day where Sam was left up to his own devices.

And all these thoughts of new clothes and upset over Sam being trapped lead to only one conclusion. And, yes, he knew it was more than likely a sign of temporary madness, but…

He was thinking about taking Sam out of the apartment for a fashion adventure. They'd have to be discreet (Kurt would have to use make-up on the serial code on the back of Sam's neck), but what was the harm in roaming for a day? And it wasn't like they'd be going all over town - just to the studio and back. He would finally have a use for the simplistic men's summer and fall lines from last year (he'd made a statement with the straight lines and rich tones - men's fashion had been going to shit, in his opinion, and those two shows had been about bringing style back to basics), and with a few alterations here and there, Sam would have a wardrobe full of nice things. Kurt would no longer have to look at that eyesore uniform, and, hey, who was he to pass up the opportunity to appreciate his designs on a worthy model?

Kurt exhaled and brought the tip of his pencil to rest against the paper. Tomorrow. Tina had the day off, and none of the models were scheduled to come in, so the studio would be empty.

He would take Sam out tomorrow. To the studio and back, and that would be it.

* * *

><p>Sam came out of sleep sharply, his eyes opening wide and his air intake labored as the data echo was overwritten quickly by his sensory input.<p>

He sat up slowly, covering his face with his hands as he struggled to cancel the alert program that had been triggered upon activation of his wake mode. Out of habit he ran a system scan, but other than his overactive AI, there wasn't anything wrong.

Just like every other time he ran the scan.

He was pretty sure his reactions to waking weren't normal, and that combined with the frequency of the data echoes was making it all too clear that something was seriously defective about him. His system scans still came up green when he ran them (and he ran them more times a day than he could count), but he knew that other Orgobots didn't have these kinds of reactions… If they did, then he would be programmed to deal with them.

But he wasn't.

He wiped his hands down his face as he fought to override the panic mode, and turned to set his feet on the floor. He looked around the apartment, and listened closely for anything to indicate that Kurt was awake, but didn't hear anything. He briefly wondered if Kurt was home at all, but then he remembered that he'd said today would be a day off, so it was more than likely that Kurt was around somewhere, maybe even still asleep.

He took a deep breath - he'd learned over the last week or so that this seemed to help slow the firing of the movement signals - and ran a hand through his hair as he collected himself.

He was glad that Kurt was never around to see him wake up, because he had no idea what he'd say to explain what was going on. Even Kurt, who didn't know anything about Orgobots or how they worked, would know that it wasn't normal, and if he did, well… He might send Sam _back_.

He'd gotten better about reacting to the thought of going back to that… _place_, whatever it was, but the thought still sparked a rapid-movement signal, making him shiver briefly. That was enough for him to know that he had to keep quiet about whatever was going on with him. He figured that as long as he could act normal, then Kurt wouldn't be the wiser and thus there wouldn't be any need to worry about being reprogrammed.

He was still trying to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do for Kurt, but he was pretty sure that he was doing a good enough job at being a friend, which was apparently what Kurt wanted him to be. He still didn't know _quite_what that meant, but they hugged (even if Kurt always pulled away quickly) and Kurt let Sam touch him on the arm or shoulder (although he was always pushing Sam's hands away if they lingered), so Sam figured that all of that was okay.

That didn't keep him from wanting to try other things though. There were tons of things that he'd come programmed to do that he'd never even gotten the opportunity to try because Kurt was always locking himself up in his room at night. He wanted to wake Kurt up with a massage, wash him in the shower, or even something small like bring him his breakfast in bed. But every time he'd tried to follow Kurt into his room, the door stayed stubbornly closed, indicating that Kurt had turned off the motion sensor outside and locked it.

Sam really, really wanted to do those things, because he just _knew_ that Kurt would like them and that they'd help him _relax_for once.

Sam thought that Kurt didn't look nearly as exhausted now as he did when Sam had first been activated, but despite looking more cheerful, he was always tense. When Sam watched him work, he could see the strain behind his motions, and even when Sam got him laughing, there was something there that told him that Kurt wasn't really happy with his life. That he'd been unhappy for a long time.

And it was Sam's job to fix that. If he could keep Kurt happy, he could stay. He could stay with Kurt.

Kurt, who was witty and snarky but still chuckled at even the stupidest of Sam's jokes. Kurt, whose eyes lit up whenever he truly smiled, making Sam grin in return. Kurt, who was passionate about what he did and patient with Sam's questions.

Sam hadn't been programmed with any expectations for his user, but he was pretty sure that Kurt was his perfect user match - minus that whole part where he just wanted to be "friends," of course. But Sam didn't think that there was any other user he'd rather be activated for.

He was fully calm now, happy thoughts of Kurt flashing across his AI as he made his way to the kitchen to see what he could put together for breakfast.

He opened the refrigeration compartment and glanced from shelf to shelf, thinking that he might do eggs and an assortment of cut fruits, when his eyes landed on a half-eaten bar of chocolate wrapped neatly in its leftover tin foil.

Sam smiled a little as he recalled Kurt talking about his weakness for sweets. The night before, when he'd sat down with Sam to finish up some work, he'd pulled the chocolate out of his bag along with his portscreen. Kurt had immediately started bargaining out his reasons for getting the chocolate (_"Today was awful and it's not like I do this often, it's okay to cheat on your diet a little every now and then as long as it's not extravagant, etc."_) and hadn't shut up until Sam started laughing at him. He'd told Kurt that a little treat never hurt, that he didn't have to explain himself, and Kurt's face had settled into an easy smile before he opened the sweet and broke off a piece.

The expression on Kurt's face as he savored the bite had made Sam's face feel strange, as if it was somehow becoming warm. He tried not to worry about this new oddity, and besides, it wasn't like he hadn't already come to terms with the fact that he was miswired. And the warm feeling wasn't a bad thing, either, although the ideas that his AI brought up once he'd analyzed Kurt's expression probably were, considering what Kurt had said about "those things" being off limits.

Sam found himself reaching for the chocolate bar, and as he brought it out and turned it over in his hand, he thought about what it would be like to eat it.

The MAFS that Sam consumed to keep his body healthy and sustained were small, rectangular bars that were crunchy in texture, and there was a strange, mild sensation that he couldn't explain from his mouth when he ate them, but they weren't anything that could make him have the reaction that Kurt had had to the chocolate… And Sam had never eaten anything else. He didn't even really know if he could fully experience all the things that had made Kurt react like that - at least, there wasn't anything he could find in his programming to tell him about it.

He unwrapped the sweet and glanced around as if Kurt might pop out of one of the kitchen compartments (totally possible), before he tentatively broke off a small square from the bar.

What could it hurt to try it? He was only taking a little bit; Kurt wouldn't mind, would he? Well, he'd already broken it off, it wasn't like he could just stick it back on there and hope for the best…

Sam hesitated for a moment, and then popped the small piece of chocolate in his mouth.

For a split second as he crushed the chocolate with his teeth, all he could think was that it was cold and crunchy and ultimately nothing special - but then it touched his tongue and an indescribable, unexplainable thing like a feeling sensation but not raced from sensors he didn't even know he had to his AI, making strange pleasure signals fire almost uncontrollably.

His eyes were wide and he inhaled sharply, turning the sweet - _was this what sweet was?_ - over his mouth and releasing a low groan as he chewed and the pleasure signals continued firing. They were different from the signals that his touch sensors sent, however, and he found himself at a loss as to how to process the influx of sensation. There was nothing in him that told him what he was experiencing or why, and the only thing that he could think of in his frenzied state is that maybe this was _taste_.

And that thought disturbed Sam for a moment as he chewed, before he decided that perhaps he was simply missing some programs where that particular sensory input was concerned. That had to be it. He couldn't be so miswired that he had unexplainable sensors with weird sensations. It could probably all be solved by downloading the programs he needed - hopefully they'd be on the Orgobotic's open DSL server.

He swallowed the chocolate, and held up the rest of the bar, staring at it with interest and a little bit of awe. Eating it had been a crazy but exciting new experience… No wonder Kurt had seemed to enjoy it so much, no wonder it was called a "treat."

Sam opened the refrigeration compartment again and replaced the chocolate bar (it was through sheer force of will that he didn't eat the whole thing right then and there) before grabbing what he needed to make breakfast.

He went through the motions of slicing up the fruit, had set Kurt's coffee to make, and was turning over the second omelette when he felt eyes on him. He smiled as he turned to fully face Kurt, who was leaning against the refrigeration compartment looking sleep-rumpled and beautiful.

"Good morning," Sam said, walking up to Kurt and brushing his bangs away from his forehead, fingertips lightly tracing a line along the soft skin. Kurt's skin was always so soft, and Sam found himself constantly wanting to touch him. But, as always, Kurt stiffened at his touch, and Sam's smile faltered. Why was he always so tense?

"Good morning," Kurt replied, voice soft and a bit rough from sleep. "What did you make?" he asked, walking around Sam to lean against the opposite counter. Sam turned and stepped back to the stove.

"Omelettes, and I cut up some fruit. I can make some toast too, if you want."

Kurt raised an eyebrow as he spotted one omelette on a plate, and another in the pan.

"You made two?"

Sam hesitated before speaking. The truth was that after the chocolate, he'd wanted to taste more things; he'd eaten pieces of fruit as he cut it up, and they sent the same pleasure signals though him, though it was different from the chocolate. And he figured he could make the excuse to try more things if he started eating with Kurt. He kind of felt like he was pushing his luck, though - Kurt hadn't asked him to eat with him, after all. But it was worth a shot.

"I kinda wanted to eat with you," Sam said, trying not to fidget from anxiety as he flipped the omelette. "I mean, if that's okay."

Kurt was quiet for a long moment, and Sam could feel his AI on the verge of panic signals as he thought about possibly having really upset Kurt. He turned around quickly, opening his mouth to backpedal when Kurt quietly responded, "It's okay. I don't mind."

Sam sighed in relief and plated the second omelette, a small smile coming back on his face despite the undercurrent of alertness humming through his system. He turned and handed Kurt the plate with the fresh omelette on it.

"Take this one, the other one has been sitting out for a while so it's probably kinda cold," he said.

Kurt accepted his food and turned to spoon some fruit onto his plate.

"We're going out today," he said suddenly, and Sam froze, blinking stupidly as Kurt continued, "I want to get you some different clothes, and I have some things I think will work for you in my studio. That, and you've been cooped up in here ever since…" he trailed off for a moment, and Sam could feel something like awkwardness in the atmosphere. "Ever since you got here."

It took Sam a minute, but when it hit him, happy signals fired and he felt excitement overwhelm his AI.

"You're really taking me out?" he questioned, and Kurt nodded, his back still facing Sam. "Awesome!" he exclaimed, quickly stepping up to Kurt and whirling him around to envelope him in a bear hug. He was happily crushing Kurt against his body when the brunet choked out, "Sam, I can't breathe!"

Sam released him, taking a small step back, but kept his hands on Kurt's shoulders. His eyes flickered back and forth between Kurt's, and he knew the excitement buzzing through him was showing on his face.

"And we're going to your studio? Where you work?"

"Mmm-hmm," Kurt hummed, but he was smiling gently even as he pushed Sam away. "You'll get to see where my brilliance comes to life," he said, picking up his food and moving around the counter to sit on one of the stools. "Don't expect too much though; despite my best efforts it's always somewhat of a disaster zone. I'd blame Tina, but she's just as much of a neat freak as I am. I don't know how everything is always all over the place."

Sam laughed a bit, looking down at his plate for a moment before replying, "It doesn't matter if it's messy… The things you draw are always so awesome, and it'll be cool to see what they look like when they're done," he said, before something else clicked. "Wait… You're giving me clothes? Like, human clothes?"

"I am indeed," Kurt said, eyeing Sam's blue scrubs with disgust. "If I have to look at that abomination for another day, I think I'll end up tearing it off of you in rage."

Sam had no control over the turn his AI took. When he took longer than necessary to respond, Kurt met his eyes. Sam watched him stop chewing and swallow heavily at the intense, sultry look Sam knew was giving him.

"If you want me naked, all you have to do is ask." Sam said, and Kurt immediately flushed, his mouth dropping open. Sam smirked, and was about to walk around the counter to advance on Kurt when Kurt exploded.

"Don't say things like that!" Kurt spluttered, looking away from Sam for a moment and breathing heavily. "I don't want you naked; I want you in clothes that won't rub your skin raw!"

Sam didn't know whether to continue riling him up or to start apologizing. Panic programs were warring with seduction programs, with some happiness thrown into the mixture, and it was all really fucking confusing.

But first and foremost, he had to do what Kurt wanted.

"Sorry," he blurted, barely managing to say something as his AI went haywire trying to figure out how to respond. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair, attempting to cancel programs in a way he already knew wouldn't work. "It just… came out."

"That's okay," Kurt said, and when Sam looked back at him, Kurt's expression was unreadable, his gaze averted. "I know you're… supposed to say things like that, and I'm sorry, but I just can't handle that sort of thing with you," he finished, finally looking back at Sam.

Sam felt something drop like a weight in his chest, and was confused and some other feeling he couldn't identify. _It's because I'm not human._

He forced a smile.

"I'll be your friend," Sam tried, keeping level with Kurt's eyes. "I promise."

Kurt sighed, looking down and spearing a half a strawberry on his fork. "I know," he said, and then began to eat the rest of his food.

Sam hesitantly started to eat as well, cutting off a piece of omelette (made with cheese inside) and trying it out. It was good too, but, again, _different_, and he tried not to let his wonderment show on his face. This had to be taste. He knew, in theory, that a lot of things tasted different, but experiencing it was a whole new thing. It was almost overwhelming, and helped distract him somewhat from being anxious about making Kurt freak out like that.

But as he ate, something nagged at him, and he broke the silence between them with a question.

"Isn't it kind of weird that you're getting me human clothes?"

Kurt stopped his fork midway to his mouth, and put it down gently on his plate.

"It is," he started, "But my irritation with whatever one would call what you're wearing outweighs any of that weirdness, by far."

Sam looked down at his plate and shifted from one foot to another, confused about why Kurt was suddenly insisting on something so strange, but not really wanting to push the issue. He wanted a chance to go to Kurt's studio too much to accidentally blow it by insisting that he wasn't _supposed_to wear those kind of clothes.

But… damn it, Kurt was confusing. _'You're supposed to have sex with me, but I don't want that. You're not supposed to wear human clothes, but I want that. What do you want me to do?'_Sam was learning, but when he thought of these things he felt some sort of strange, bad signal that excited him but wasn't panic flash across his AI. His programming told him so many things that didn't match what Kurt wanted, and he was left making guesses at every turn about what would be okay and what wouldn't.

Sam shook his head, suddenly feeling like he could slip back into sleep mode even though he'd only just come out of it. Tomorrow, when Kurt was at work, he was going to do some research on all this crazy stuff that was going on in his AI and run a search for missing programs. He didn't think he could deal with all the weirdness anymore. He needed answers.

When he glanced up, Kurt was looking really tense and uncomfortable; he was pushing the remains of his breakfast around on his plate with his back very straight. _'Maybe he does know it's weird for me.'_

"Alright. Then different clothes it is!" Sam said, pushing away his confusion and conflicting thoughts and smiling at Kurt. "When do you wanna leave?"

Kurt seemed to relax, and Sam knew he'd made the right choice in dropping it.

"We'll leave once I'm done with my morning routine," Kurt replied, giving Sam a small smile as the atmosphere eased. "We'll need plenty of time; this may take a while."

There was a glint in Kurt's eye as he spoke, and Sam narrowed his eyes in playful suspicion, his confusion and negative AI processes slowly disappearing at the subtle excitement on Kurt's face.

"You say that like you're hiding something," he said.

Kurt put his elbows on the counter and laced his fingers together before resting his chin on the bridge they made, a smirk settling on his features.

"Let's just say this - and it's something you already know - I am very passionate about fashion."

Sam blinked, wondering what Kurt meant by that, but gave a lopsided grin and shrugged.

"I think it'll be cool to see you in action," he said.

"Thank you, Sam," Kurt replied, gathering his plate and standing up. "I only wish the other fashion-challenged men in my life would think the same."

"Let me get that," Sam said, motioning for Kurt to give him his plate. Kurt handed it to him and he picked up his own plate, going over to the waste shoot to scrape off the remains. "Why don't they? Watching you work is awesome."

"I'd say 'you'll see,' but that's rather dramatic and unnecessary, really, since what I do is for the greater good and they don't have any right to complain."

Sam paused in loading the plates into the cleaner drop.

"I'm not really going to enjoy this, am I?" he asked, turning back to Kurt with a skeptical look on his face.

Kurt just smiled, making his way around the counter and walking down the hall before calling back, "Uh-huh!"

Sam shifted and looked down at the floor, suddenly wary of this outing. Kurt was being awfully vague about the whole thing.

He shook his head. Whatever. It would be cool to see where Kurt spends his days (and sometimes nights). Sam was sure of it.

"Here," Kurt said, appearing so suddenly that Sam's AI fired a huge pulse of movement signals, making him jump a little. He caught his breath quickly, his cancellation of panic programs actually working for once. Kurt tilted his head to the side. "I didn't mean to scare you," he said hesitantly, and Sam looked away as his AI tried to process that. _'Fear?'_It was the same feeling he got when he thought about being reprogrammed.

"Scare?" he said, and then snapped his mouth shut. Kurt didn't need to know that he was experiencing things he didn't have the programs to deal with.

"…You jumped," Kurt said. "I didn't mean to scare you; I just need you to change into this before we go out. They'll probably be a little small on you, but… Sam, are you okay?"

Sam took a deep breath, and made the snap decision to play along. What else could he do?

"Yeah, sorry, I'm fine. You just… scared me," he said, reaching out and taking the clothes from Kurt.

"If you say so," Kurt said, though he looked suspicious. "I'm going to go get ready. Go ahead and change."

And with that Kurt left the kitchen and went back down the hallway. Sam heard his door slide shut behind him.

He stood in the kitchen, trying to figure out what had just happened. Kurt had said he'd scared him. Was fear what his AI was experiencing? He knew about fear, but he didn't have a fear program; he had pleasure signals and pain signals that were wired both to his body and his AI - he knew what feeling good, _happy_, was supposed to do, but these negative AI processes weren't explainable. He had reaction programs, ways he was supposed to look and things he was supposed to say or do given certain situations, but he had nothing to explain the… _feelings_.

Sam closed his eyes and let his weight fall back against the counter.

He wanted answers.

Tonight. He'd research all of this tonight on the hoverscreen, once Kurt went to bed. Right now, he had to get himself together and act normal. Just change clothes and wait for Kurt.

He walked out of the kitchen, fully intending to go into the living room and change, but paused and turned to face Kurt's door.

He could hear the shower running.

Almost immediately his AI as whirling with possibilities. Some of them he knew Kurt wouldn't like, but others…

Did friends take showers together?

He shook his head a bit and walked into the living room, placing his change of clothes on the back of the couch and moving to take off his shirt.

Change clothes. He would just change clothes.

But the _possibilities_. He didn't have to do anything sexual with Kurt in the shower - he could just cut those parts out of it. He felt happiness flow through him as his AI flashed images of washing Kurt in the shower, of being that close to him. His programming showed him how happy it would make Kurt, how he'd appreciate it and think it was fun.

_'Is it really okay?'_

Sam could feel himself slipping into his programming (again), and as he continued processing things, he started to lose track of the boundaries Kurt had put up between them. There were things overwhelming his AI - ideas about things that could make Kurt happy, and that was his primary purpose, wasn't it? He should do things that make Kurt happy.

Everything in him was telling him to join Kurt in the shower. It was the same process he went through every time he heard the shower running, he knew that, and the only thing that had ever stopped him was the door.

But maybe this time it wouldn't be locked?

He dropped his shirt on the back of the couch, next to the clothes Kurt had given him, and made his way down the hall to Kurt's room.

When he was a few steps away, the door slid open.

Sam was getting excited bursts of all kinds of signals from his AI as he entered the room, looking around before his eyes settled on the open bathroom door. He could hear Kurt singing softly, and smiled. This was going to be _awesome_.

He took off his pants and made his way to the bathroom, walking in quietly. He couldn't see Kurt's shadow through the shower curtain, but he could very clearly hear his high, lilting voice. He almost hated to interrupt, but everything in him was demanding that he get in the shower, that he do the things that would make Kurt happy.

He pushed aside the right portion of the shower curtain, and saw Kurt standing naked and relaxed, his head down and his eyes closed as water rained down on his back. The shower was large, and Sam easily ducked in, stepping forward and reaching out to touch Kurt's face.

As soon as his fingertips made contact, Kurt jumped back, letting out a high-pitched screech as he drooped his loofah and pressed his back against the wall. Sam blinked, not understanding.

"Sam!" Kurt hissed. "What are you doing? Get out!"

Sam's brows knit in confusion.

"Why? We're just taking a shower together," he said, and bent to pick up the dropped loofah. He stepped forward and reached out, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder and trying to pry him away from the wall. "I'll wash your back! I promise it'll feel good."

Sam watched as Kurt's horrified face turned a crazy shade of red.

"Sam, get _out_of the shower! I'm not kidding!" He yelled, shoving Sam away harshly.

Sam stumbled back, and his eyes widened as he felt his feet slip on the soap-slicked tub bottom. He tried to catch his balance by grabbing onto something, but it turned out that the shower curtain wasn't exactly stable, at it came crashing down with him. It was a split second from standing to downed, but in the process not only had he ripped the curtain rod clear off the wall, he'd also managed to tangle his leg's in Kurt's enough for him to come toppling down on top of Sam.

Everything, save for the running water, was very still for a moment.

Sam felt a faint buzz spark through his body as he processed the feeling of wet, naked skin pressed flush up against him for the first time. His sensors started going haywire, and he felt that strange sensation that he couldn't explain in his face again; it was like it was getting hotter, even though they already had steaming hot water pouring down on them. He felt like everything was suddenly on edge, and he didn't know what to do, but he knew he wanted to keep _feeling_.

And then his programming kicked in.

Sam brought his hands up, resting for the barest of moments on Kurt's hips before one slipped up to his shoulder and the other moved to stroke teasingly over his lower back. He both felt and heard Kurt's breath catch as his hands slid across his smooth skin. As Kurt tried to pull away, the hand on his shoulder came up and tangled in his hair, pulling his head back while pressing him forward, exposing his throat.

It took only a moment for Sam's AI to filter through all of his programming, and then he was reacting, _acting_ on the things he wanted, planting open mouth kisses against Kurt's wet neck, that strange and unexplainable sensation from sensors on his tongue telling him that though Kurt was different from _chocolate_, he was just as good, almost _better_. Kurt's breaths were coming in little hesitating gasps, as if he were forgetting to breathe, and he trembled gently when Sam tilted his head to bite gently at the shell of his ear.

Kurt moved to pull away again, and Sam let out a deep moan as the sensation of skin against skin sent electrical pulses firing at an insane rate throughout his body. He could feel Kurt's erection, heavy and solid, slide against his stomach as he tried to sit up, and Sam felt his own half hard cock rise to full attention at the feeling. He released Kurt's hair, but before he could sit up fully, Sam's hands moved to grip Kurt's hips harshly and he pulled him down between Sam's spread thighs.

Kurt stopped moving altogether when Sam rolled his hips, his erection sliding against Kurt's as he wrapped one leg around his waist. The brunet had pushed himself up, his hands were on either side of Sam's head, and he was panting hard, his eyes wide and his pupils blown. Sam was breathing heavily, too, keeping his eyes open and locked with Kurt's as he rolled his hips again. Kurt's eyes fluttered, and Sam reached up and touched the side of Kurt's face before trailing his hand down, down Kurt's chest and between their bodies, until he could feel Kurt in his hand. He licked his lips and took a firmer grip, giving a quick stroke before swiping his thumb across the head.

Kurt inhaled sharply, his head ducking down as his eyes closed tight. Sam was more alert than he had ever been, his sensory input processor almost overwhelmed just by touching Kurt like this, but something else in him was even more pleased to see Kurt react this way. Seeing Kurt like this was sending signals firing almost as much as the sensors on his skin, and Sam wanted more from him, to see his expressions, to hear his _sounds_. He loved the taste of his skin and the feel of him in his hand as he began stroking him long and slow, and all he could think about was Kurt, Kurt, _pretty eyes, I want to see his eyes_.

When Kurt opened his eyes again, Sam couldn't stop himself, and he lunged forward, capturing Kurt's bottom lip gently between his teeth. He bit down just a bit, and it felt perfect, full and soft, but just as Sam released his lip, Kurt yanked back, one of his hands slapping against Sam's arm as he struggled to untangle himself from their meshed limbs.

"No, no, no, no!" Kurt was repeating, and Sam was suddenly aware that something was very wrong, and immediately released Kurt, who stood quickly, so quickly that he nearly fell onto Sam again, barely managing not to get tangled up in the felled shower curtain.

Panic suddenly flared up in Sam like an explosion, and he stood up too, eyes darting all over Kurt's face as he watched Kurt completely freak out. He didn't know what to do, but he knew he had to do _something_, because somehow he'd messed up, and that was bad, that was _very bad_, because if he couldn't do it right, if he wasn't good enough, then…!

His AI was firing all kinds of contradictory orders, and Sam was completely frozen but for a faint tremble from unstoppable movement signals.

"Sam," Kurt started, turning away and bracing himself against the wall. "You need to get out," he said, sounding breathless but calmer than Sam expected.

Sam was overcome with the need to explain, to make things right before Kurt got too upset with him.

"But I was just-"

"Now! Sam, you need to get out! Right now!"

Sam was overwhelmed then, by too many things to count, and there were things coming from his AI that he didn't know what to do with, but they all made his chest feel heavy as he scrambled out of the shower, stepping over the shower curtain as he ran out of the bathroom, through Kurt's room, and out into the living room.

It was only once Kurt's door shut behind him that he remembered he was naked and wet, trailing water on the hardwood floors of the apartment as he moved to the den. He felt open, exposed, and he was still half hard despite the madness that was going on inside his systems… And he had nowhere to hide.

He fell to his knees, one hand coming up to rub his chest because the _pressure_ he felt there was so painful, and there were these things running through him that were like programs but not programs because there wasn't anything written in his systems to describe the signals from his AI and there was no explanation for the the crushing sensation he felt. Felt. _Feelings._

He was shaking badly, breathing heavy but trying to calm down as he slowly stood up. He saw the clothes Kurt had given him to wear out resting over the back of the couch where he'd left them. He hurried to change into them, and even though they stuck to him in the places where he was still soaking wet, he knew that it would be way worse for Kurt to come out and him to still be naked.

When he had the clothes on, he immediately went to work canceling the panic programs and anything that could be making him react this way, but nothing was stopping all of the things he felt. Felt. _Feelings._

He collapsed then, his hands gripping the back of the couch as he pressed his forehead into its fabric, his eyes shut tight as he struggled to gain control over his system.

And there he stayed, kneeling like that, panicked and panting.

He eventually moved to sit on the couch, and waited for Kurt. He had to explain. He had to tell Kurt he wouldn't do that again. He had to make Kurt understand that he was just trying to make him happy.

He let his head fall back, closed his eyes, and wished for everything to be okay.


End file.
